Memories or Still Truths?

The monologue I wrote last year for Creative Writing:

Why do I even bother sometimes? It’s like, when I speak, I don’t even exist. I could just say anything, and people would look right past me with that same blank stare, expressionless, and continue whatever they were doing. I’m ridiculously gratified when someone looks at me, listens, answers, laughs at a joke—an actual conversation, with someone else! In the hallways, too, I am not acknowledged, I am invisible, just something to move around (or sometimes not even that). Are they all so self-absorbed? It makes me want to curse, scream “Fuck!” but I’m a nice girl and I don’t use words like that, of course. Wouldn’t it be shocking? Or would no one hear me? Would they just carry on, as usual, ignoring the girl standing in the middle of the hallway, screaming, “I’m so fucking alone!” The Christian kids from the church I used to attend, they’re so nice, they don’t even recognize me at school, not like they ever did. I simply don’t exist; I’m faceless, voiceless, lost. Oh, and the reason I left that church? I didn’t belong. I don’t belong in this school; I don’t belong anywhere, neither earth nor heaven nor hell. Maybe I belong among the stars, a comet, always moving until someday I crash into a planet, becoming stardust and rock, forgotten, crash into oblivion.

If anyone wanted to know how I felt through my high school years...