I'm a cripple.
Apparently I'm supposed to use one of these things to like, let my feelings out?
Personally, I don't really care about doing that. I bet you all know, or don't really give a crap, about what I feel anyway, so why post it online?
I'm jealous. I'm torn. I'm pissed off. I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off.
Besides. I'm sure someone is already spreading news about Quinn Fabray and I throughout the entire freaking school.
So now my freaking ankle's like, broken. Or sprained. Or whatever.
I'm on crutches.
It's disgusting.
I'm a freaking cripple. They say it isn't bad enough to give me a wheelchair, but it hurts like a bitch, so I don't understand why. That Artie kid can't even feel his legs, and he gets the wheelchair, while I'm in pain. I mean- what the hell? What kind of fucked up conspiracy is this? Argh, whatever.
Personally, I don't really care about doing that. I bet you all know, or don't really give a crap, about what I feel anyway, so why post it online?
I'm jealous. I'm torn. I'm pissed off. I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off.
Besides. I'm sure someone is already spreading news about Quinn Fabray and I throughout the entire freaking school.
So now my freaking ankle's like, broken. Or sprained. Or whatever.
I'm on crutches.
It's disgusting.
I'm a freaking cripple. They say it isn't bad enough to give me a wheelchair, but it hurts like a bitch, so I don't understand why. That Artie kid can't even feel his legs, and he gets the wheelchair, while I'm in pain. I mean- what the hell? What kind of fucked up conspiracy is this? Argh, whatever.