(no subject)
I walked to the library today with my hood over my head and a stack of my folders and books in my arms, cursing you every step of the way, stepping on every crack in the cement hoping to break your back. I couldn’t stay in the same house as you for one more second, not even to do my homework. Too much negative energy. I can’t believe you for thinking I’m on drugs and want to send me to a psychiatrist. I can’t believe myself for swallowing half the shit you said. It makes me sad that four people called me yesterday just to see if I was all right, just to ask me what’s wrong. I don’t want them to worry about me, so I tell them that everything is fine. Typical me. I sound pathetic saying this, but it’s taken me a matter of months to see it. Things are NOT okay, Megan. Your mom is a constantly livid anal bitch who is cheating on your father who doesn’t talk to anyone but himself unless it’s about softball, which you quit so you could be happy, but are you? Are you happy that you’re giving up on things? Are you happy that you’re giving up on people because you aren’t getting through to them? Are you happy that you’ve cried almost as much in the last couple of months than you have ever cried in our life? I remember thinking this and then looking up at the sky wishing it would rain, because is doesn’t seem fair that the sun is still shining when I feel like shit. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to promise me a thing. So this is pain? I feel it now, it took a while, but it built up and here I am. I just want things to get better.