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I’m pissed off.

I’m pissed off that I work five days a week and have negative two dollars in my bank account. I’m pissed off that I get yelled at for getting home past curfew because I was crying in a parking lot to my boyfriend, while my brother can have his girlfriend spend the night at our house and have her up in his room with the door closed (did I mention that my room is next door and the walls are thin? Yeah. And meanwhile, my boyfriend can’t set one foot in my room without me getting screamed at). I’m pissed off that it’s been a week of working at my crappy job and the one day where all I want to do is be alone and relax while playing this computer game “Civilization” (my boyfriend got me addicted to it to the point where I want to play it everyday for hours), I don’t have enough money to buy it (or gas, for that matter. Or the spending tickets I’ve acquired. Or the lawyer for the speeding tickets). I’m pissed off that all I ever do is screw up and get yelled at for it. I’m pissed off that I have less than a month left before I leave this place and my boyfriend. I’m pissed off that I have to start taking meds again when all I want is to be normal and stay there. I’m pissed off that this stupid blog is FOR NOTHING, that my friends don’t bother reading it, or anyone else for that matter. Am I helping anyone, or being helped myself? NO. IT’S ALL FOR NOTHING. I hate it. I hate my life right now. I hate that no one in my family wants to spend time with me without criticizing me.  I hate that all my friends are busy. I hate that college is starting. I hate it all. I hate that my boyfriend has had a lot more relationships than I have had, and has slept with more people than I have had, and they’ve all been good and fine and all of my past relationships remind me why I suck and deserved to be treated that way. I hate that I’m thinking all of this and writing all of this, when no one wants to hear it–people want to hear about how being positive is easy and life isn’t scary and that once you have found love it all works out and that confidence will never fail you and your friends from high school will stick by you and won’t end up doing heroin.

And I can’t write about any of that, because I know none of it.

Sometimes, when people look at my scars where I’ve cut myself they joke around and ask things like, “So why’d you carve a giant swastika into your arm?” (which it isn’t, and is offensive), I think, “You’ve never hated yourself like I have, have you? And you’ll never know how sad you can feel inside when you look at your scars and not regret it. Because deep down somewhere I know I took it easy on myself, and if I truly were honest when I had that knife in my hand I wouldn’t be here right now. So go ahead, look concerned or laugh. If you knew what this was like you wouldn’t say a word.” That’s how I feel writing in this blog sometimes. I feel like I’ve put my scars out there in these posts, and in response all people want to do is judge rather than understand.

I don’t need advice and I don’t need sympathy. I need support, I need to know you people are actually there.

(If you even are.)

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PLEASE READ:

There have been few times in my life where I have been this angry. Naturally, I haven’t said much about it to anyone and am leaving it pent-up for another time. So, sue me.

Let me get something out here, out here to the online world, to everyone who may ever find out who is the true author of this and those who have, so it may be permanently associated with who I am:

The reason I started this blog was because there are so many, so many people in this world looking from the outside into a bubble full of people so absolved in their lives that they have forgotten what it means to reach out. Because humans sometimes go against our caring nature because “someone else will take care of it”. And I know deep  in my heart that some people out there are capable of touching people’s lives, if only they are reminded that they can. As much as I talk about my own personal problems in these posts, my goal is not for people to sympathize with me, or help me. My goal is for someone else to read it and feel like there are still people out there who can care about more than money, sex, ambition, self-image, and pride.

Now tell me, is that so wrong?

I am truly sorry if any of this content has offended anybody or caused hurt; it was unintentionally done. But how dare someone tell me it is a mistake to speak my mind?

That, I hope, I will never understand.

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