(no subject)
That's it. I fucking hate my father. End of story. x.x
He's getting mad and bitching at ME, for calling my cat a "fucking retard". Why'd I do that? Because I was brushing him--like my dad fucking told me to--and the cat tore my fucking wrist open with his teeth.
And my dad is mad at ME for being pissed at the cat; saying I was prolly "brushing him wrong". How the fuck can you brush a cat wrong? I try defending myself--telling him I brush him the only way I can with the brushes he gave me---and it's still somehow my fault. Squeaky doesn't like being brushed. Period. How the fuck is that my fault?
Gah, it fucking hurts. Really, really bad--enough that I was crying even before dad started throwing his little hissy-fit. Just from the pain. And for those who don't know, I'm a masochist; I like pain, so for it to make me fucking cry is saying a lot, and---now I can feel my whole damn arm going numb. I already could hardly feel my fingers when I started typing this. Now my hand too, and I can feel it starting up my arm. x.x
What's better? This all happened right in front of my fucking friend. Nice first impression, you retard. Real nice.
I'm done. That's it. When he takes me home, I'm need to figure out how to just fucking tell him I can't do this anymore. Every fucking time I see him I get stressed out. I can't keep doing this. I can't, or else I will end up snapping, and then someone is going to get hurt.
Now I need ice. And bandages. But that means I'd need to leave my room, but--he's out there, so... x.x
He's getting mad and bitching at ME, for calling my cat a "fucking retard". Why'd I do that? Because I was brushing him--like my dad fucking told me to--and the cat tore my fucking wrist open with his teeth.
And my dad is mad at ME for being pissed at the cat; saying I was prolly "brushing him wrong". How the fuck can you brush a cat wrong? I try defending myself--telling him I brush him the only way I can with the brushes he gave me---and it's still somehow my fault. Squeaky doesn't like being brushed. Period. How the fuck is that my fault?
Gah, it fucking hurts. Really, really bad--enough that I was crying even before dad started throwing his little hissy-fit. Just from the pain. And for those who don't know, I'm a masochist; I like pain, so for it to make me fucking cry is saying a lot, and---now I can feel my whole damn arm going numb. I already could hardly feel my fingers when I started typing this. Now my hand too, and I can feel it starting up my arm. x.x
What's better? This all happened right in front of my fucking friend. Nice first impression, you retard. Real nice.
I'm done. That's it. When he takes me home, I'm need to figure out how to just fucking tell him I can't do this anymore. Every fucking time I see him I get stressed out. I can't keep doing this. I can't, or else I will end up snapping, and then someone is going to get hurt.
Now I need ice. And bandages. But that means I'd need to leave my room, but--he's out there, so... x.x