Would I be Missed...

So it's 12:30 and this short little rantical rant of all ranty rants in ranting on my mind. So yeah, take enjoyment in my depressing thoughts on self-hatred. Yay. 
==What would happen...==
Have you ever sat up late at night, after all of your friends have stopped texting you in favor of common practices such as sleep, and stared up at the ceiling, letting your thoughts wander? Have you ever found that it is one of the most relaxing and most idiotic ideas on the planet. Personally, I would recommend avoiding this practice, as it might end with you forcing yourself out of bed to pour your feelings out into the webpages of a small community of most likely disinterested writers. (One might call them a Young Writers Club. They should get a wikia.)
In all seriousness, if you pride yourself on having any sort of wisdom whatsoever, I wholeheartedly plead with you not to follow my lead. For, once again, despite my best efforts I have ended up thinking upon my least favorite topic: Myself. 
I mean, no one likes thinking about themselves. Some because they don't care to acknowledge their flaws, while others decide it is easier on their fragile egos to attack the flaws of others. However, there are some people who hate thinking about themselves because they know about their flaws. They see them in the mirrors, they hear it in their voices or the laughter they sometimes feign just so people don't ask that dreaded question. 
"Are you okay?"
For crying out loud people, you see a person holding back tears, or by themselves and distraught. What do you do? Ask, "Are you okay?"?! No, you don't, because most of the time distraught people are fairly NOT okay. I guess that's why we can move our faces into smiles or laughter while inside we feel broken, so that we don't have to feel like the world is looking at us. 
Which, if you're like me, is the worst feeling in the universe. One thing I strive to be is un-notice-able. I want to be that kid that no one knows. The one that brings no attention to himself. The one who can manage without the constant inquiries of whether or not he is okay when he is most likely not okay. 
And, should you decide NOT to heed this advice and do approach me when I am not okay and ask if I am, I will reply in a very dishonest manner, such as "Yeah," or "Sure,". 
Just a fair warning, being vulnerable/ admitting that I need someone is not one of my strong suits. 
Oh, I seem to have rambled on from what my original point was even going to be. 
Yeah, so I forced myself out from under the comforters and pillows to write this because it was all I could think about and I forgot to get to my main point. Frigging emotions. 
Back, to the point, which is essentially the title, is that aching feeling I get every now and then when I'm alone-or with other people for that matter- that I am the most unwanted person on the face of this planet. 
It's possibly the easiest thought to have. Because, think about it, here we are, 7 billion of God's creations on this miniscule little planet in this magnificent universe, it's sometimes impossible to think of yourself as important. 
(Yes, I said God's creations. Yes, I am religious. Yes, I am sorry if I offended you, and No, I'm not removing it.)
7 billion people, and here I am, a pathetic excuse for a high school student. Apparently, I fail to fit into any of societies roles. Yes I'm a good student but I'm not acing every class. Yes I have friends but I'm not social. I'm not wellrounded, or attractive, and most certainly I have not one second of my future planned. 
"Oh but you're just a high schooler you have all that time to plan!" Bull. My entire future is riding on whether or not I can divide exponents (among other trivialites), which even my teacher admitted would be rendered less than useful after our schooling. Really motivational, but at least they can keep it real. 
Again, off topic for heaven's sake!
Back to self-hatred. So, I'm sitting here at 1 am typing this as slow as I can so my brother can't hear the tap-tap of the keys. Not that it matters, he can't hear the words I'm writing, he can't feel the sort of ache that I feel as I acknowledge that I made these words, and I felt every one of them. I promise, I'm not just attention-wh*ring, this is legitimate. 
And, as with the quiet typing, it reminds me of how I go through life at times. I press all the problems to the side. Anything that could ever bring me down gets tossed into the cupboard. Not many people know it but the cupboard's pretty full, and every now and then I have to open it and clean a few of the dishes in there, just like I'm doing now. 
The main focus of this was supposed to be how unimportant I feel in the grand scheme of things, but I seem incapable of coherent thought at the moment. So let's hurry this along, shall we?
UNIMPORTANCE. Is one of our base emotions, which none of us want to admit, but we all feel it. You get the feeling and you know it. Every once in a while (or all the time) you feel smaller than a dust mite, and it's like you get thrown to the side because you're 
just. 
so. 
useless.
And every time you're ignored, or you let yourself get trod upon, or anything of the sort, it just kills you a little bit more. So you run. You stop trying to matter to more people and lock yourself inside a cage with what you have. Be it a large circle of friends or one best friend and a boxed set of John Green novels. 
Regardless of what's in your "Cage", you will feel content for a while. But then, you want the cage to shrink, or expand, depending on your preference. And you'll find that no matter what you try to do, you begin to watch things in the cage disappear. You find yourself angry with your friends, or find your friends angry at you. Or both. Usually both. You see only the sad endings in the books. You don't see all the character accomplished in the first two books, but only that she died in the last one. 
You don't see the point hardly anymore. It hurts to admit that you've become one of the people you despised: the people who've given up and don't see any point in their lives. The Augustus Waters' and Hazel Graces who seem to believe they are nothing but fleeting coincedences. And since I don't want to get attacked by a swarm of atheiests, I won't go into the whole "Soul, Heaven, Hell" thing.
The real reason I wanted to write this was the friends bit. Lately, I've found myself pushing away the few people I could always turn towards. I'm digging myself into a pit, and everytime a hand offers to pull me out, I slap it with a shovel. Why? I have no idea. Maybe I'll find some grand epiphany when I'm done digging, and if I don't, I'll look up and see that my friends have stopped trying to pull me out. I'll see I'm alone.
Alone.
Possibly my favorite and least favourite word in the english language. 
"Just leave me alone," "I just want to be alone right now" is generally a good way to get "caring" people to leave you be.
However, there is the alternate usage. "I'm so alone." "I can't stand being alone" "I'm going to be left alone again." And that's how I feel now. Alone. That's how I feel every time I slap that helping hand away with my shovel, all the while digging deeper and deeper. But for some reason, I can't seem to find the courage to look up at the faces of my friends and say "I need help,"
I can never ask for help. In anything. I'm always the helper. Not the person being helped. I see people who need help as just that, people that need help. I see people I care about that need help as people that need me. God Complex? You could say that...
Regardless, I imagine that most of the other people around me see people in need as nuisances. I can't just go spilling my problems to anyone and everyone, they'll get tired of it. Yes, I can't handle it on my own but It's all I can do. If I ever let myself take one of those hands, I'll have to admit that I'm just a scared freshman. 
I'll have to say I need help, that I don't know what to do, that I'm. Not. Good Enough. 
And the day that comes, will be when I'm completely shattered. 
That can never happen. I can't shatter. Conceal, Don't feel. Don't feel. 
Suffer in silence, because the second I need help I'll have to look at the amazing friends you have, and then I have to realize that these people are all going to say all those things you've refused to believe all over again.
They'll say I matter. That I'm important to them. 
Even though I know I'm not. I'm no different from anyone else. I just possess the ability to see past my own selfish troubles and devote myself to the solving of other people's problems. 
Sometimes I feel like that's all I am, is a shoulder to cry on. There are worse things to be, but the shoulder to cry on is always turned away eventually. Time heals all wounds, something I can't do, and the people that leaned on me push away and I watch them leave. I watch them disappear, and I'm just another person that used to matter. 
It brings up that stupid question of who would actually miss me if I just stopped. Or as Augustus Waters would say "If I was no longer plagued by personhood." (The Fault in Our Stars is a really uplifting read.)
And, it's an honest question. It's difficult to imagine for some, but I don't see much in the event of me stopping "the breathing thing". Time does heal all wounds, and there are other shoulders to cry on. People move on, they forget people who used to matter. 
What if that's all I was to everyone?
Is that what I am?
Just someone that used to matter. 
So for these reasons, I do believe I'll attempt to sleep immediately after the people who make my day worthwhile leave me for the simple pleasure of rest. I believe I'll try and retreat from these truths that I pray I can reject next time I read it, I'll hide them away, and act like this at all changed anything, and so if you come up to me and ask me that question, I can look at you and say-
"Yeah, I'm okay."