April 12th

  March 25th, 2009 by escapee

That date might not mean much to you, it’s just like easter sunday or monday or whatever, to you. To me, that’s going to be the date on my grave; May 1994 – April 2009. I’m doing it then, simply because that’s when I’m guarenteed no one [my grandparents, my brothers] is going to walk in and somehow manage to prolong this. Somehow manage to like, spring me back to life and race me to the hospital so they can “save” me while still conveniently managing to give me amnesia or something so I forget that I’m supposed to DIE.

Also, they’ve told me they’re sending me to theropy. Because I need help. Because there’s something wrong with me.

It makes no sense, they tell me I’m a sociopath, that I have anxiety, severe depression, ADD, bipolar and tons of other bull like that [I have no idea what half of those even mean, but according to them, I’ve got it. Among other things I can’t remember how to pronounce, so am not even going to attempt to write out]. They think I’m going to like freak out [“snap”, in their words…] and kill them all. I mean, yeah, I’ve thought of it, but I’m not getting locked up for actually doing it. They’re just jumping to conclusions. And my only problem isn’t even going to be a problem much longer, I have the soloution; hence, no problem. What’s the point in getting  “help”, if they’re going to tell me to NOT kill myself? They just lie and lie and lie, all of them. Always, about everything. And, once I’m dead, they won’t have to deal with me anymore. So ,really, they should thank me. My grandparents have made it quite clear the burden I am to them, seeing as what grandparents, whom have just gotten rid of their children, want to suddenly inherit a teenager with all of my “issues”? Exactly. My grandmother’s afraid of me, and my grandfather takes every opportunity to yell and scream and remind me how much I fail at everything and that I need to try harder and make something of myself. He doesn’t seem to have gotten it through his head that since I was 11 I’ve known I’m never making it to my 18th birthday, so why even bother. There’s no point.

He tells me how I “make it so hard for him to love me” and whatnot, and they make me hug them after they scream at me, trying in vain to make me cry or, like, show some kind of emotion. I don’t cry. Or they just want to witness the hyperventilating that always follows when they start screaming like that. Really, how is it fair when you get yelled and screamed at to no end, then you have to hug the person that was just yelling at you, and tell them you love them. Then, add in the fact that I don’t know what love is.

 Is it, like, when you would die for them or would just be really sad if they died, or you couldn’t kill them? Because, in all honesty, I can’t think of one person off the top of my head I’d really care if they died, I’d probably be kinda jealous, actually. And I really just want to burn the house down with them inside, and throw my mother inside as well, just for good measure. So, if that’s all love is, then, yeah they’ve been making me lie. I’ve never felt it, never mind to them.

It’s funny actually, they’ve “diagnosed” me with everything except being suicidal. I find that absolutely hysterical. They completely dance around the fact that I hate my life and wish every night I wouldn’t wake to see the next day, or would trip in front of a bus on the way to school or something. Or anything.

Well, that’s good for me. They might have thought of theropy earlier if I’d let on what was really going on. Another thing they fail to realize, when they call me a sociopath, which I just looked up, they’re wrong. I think. I mean, I just don’t talk about how I feel, or let myself feel…what I should feel or something. I guess. I don’t know. Whatever, confusing thoughts.

Oh, man, I didn’t know I could draw this out for that long. It’s really kinda pointless, even after I deleted a ton of it. Huh.

Well, if you got all the way to the end, hats off to you. I’m sure the vast majority, if they even started to read it, got to the first few sentences and were like, “Wow, I’d really rather swallow razors then read anymore of this. Pathetic.” Then quickly skipped along, shaking their head. I really only did this for me, to see it or something…I dunno…

Ah, well. April 12th. Well…maybe sooner, if I can get them outta the house. I hope sooner.


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