Plane Rides Are Not Nice

I hate plane rides and I hate being nice.

You see, I've never liked plane rides. They take too long, there's not enough leg room, and apparently I sleep with my mouth open. I hate that so much. 

I hate plane rides because I hate that feeling in your stomach when you're taking off or when you're descending. I hate planes because turbulence is the scariest thing ever. I hate plane rides because you can be in a plane filled with hundreds of people and feel like the only person in the world.

I hate plane rides because even though I'm at the highest elevation I've ever been at, I feel the lowest I've ever felt. It just makes me think of home and how I'm not there yet. It makes me think of all the times I'm missing and all of the times I could have made, but I wasn't there. 

I hate being nice. 

I hate being nice because it's not worth it anymore. At least, that's what it feels like. I hate that I'm too good of friends with everybody. I hate that every single relationship I have practically goes nowhere. My best friends will find new friends or romantic interests and they go farther and farther in a relationship while OUR relationship stays on the same plain. It never moves. 

I'm not passive-aggressive, but I am passive. I'm too passive to speak my mind and express my feelings. I'm too afraid to ask people to love me. I'm too afraid to ask for help. I'm too afraid of pushing people away because God knows I've done that too much. 

I hate the fact I'm sitting on this goddamn plane feeling worthless. I hate planes because it makes me hate being nice and that is the worst thing. I hate that I'm sitting on this goddamn plane and all I want is for her to come and sit next to me but instead she's sitting next to him. I hate that she says that she hates him but in all reality, they can't get enough of together.

Don't worry, I don't like her, it's just... God. 

All that matters is that I hate planes.

And I hate being nice.