Lack of content

I am who I am.
Its funny, you're always being told to be who you are; but all I want to do is change.
Everything: appearance, personality, my life basically.
But firstly my appearance, and I'm trying. Just not hard enough, and I'm constantly disappointed in myself. I will never be good enough. Smart enough. Skinny enough. Pretty enough. Funny enough.
I eat too much food. I'm too loud when I talk. I laugh a little too hard at jokes. I'm as far from perfect, as I can be. And I need to change that. My body is a temple of imperfections. Big, black, hollow, dead.
My days are nothing. I don't do anything. My life is being slept away. Day after day. A little closer to the end. Frightening, isn't it?
This isn't life. I have no life. What's the point of living if there is no life? Can you even live?
Shades of black and grey. Nothing ever happens. Is it my fault? Yes. I know that, but I don't know how to change it. Which brings me back to the fact that I want to change things.

My demons are alive. I am reminded of that everyday: the scars on my body from where their claws ripped open my skin. the echoes of their screams in my growling stomach. But only I can see. Only I can hear. No one notices. No one cares. No one knows I'm fighting. I don't believe anyone really knows me. No one knows everything. They never will. I am a master of disguise.
Even though I do everything to keep my secrets, hide my misery, I want someone to notice.
But they don't notice, if they don't look. They don't look, if they don't care. They don't care.

I am wasting my time, trying to be something people would care about. But they never do. Pathetic. Desperate. A failure.