My family is moving, but I don’t want to. I’m not old enough to live on my own, and it sucks. I grew up in this house, I love this house. I can run around in the dark with my eyes closed and know where everything is.
But, even though I love this house, pain lingers in the air for me. I refuse to die in a new house that I do not feel comfortable in. I know this house like all my scars. I remember when I was just a child, carefree and happy.
In the new house, I will have to make new memories. Some would say it’s not that bad, but I do not think they have depression.
My depression would make that house painful. No happy memory will be born there. And so, before we move, I’m going to make sure that my bedroom is stained red with my blood.
And my family can move away from their sorry excuse for a daughter’s resting place. I’m a good for nothing *****, and I’m thankful that I won’t need to bother anyone anymore.
And anyone that reads this…I’m sorry for wasting your time. I appreciate the nice comments you leave me, but really. I’m not worth them.
2 comments
Kristina – PLEASE do not do it.
It is wood and plaster and paint. It is NOT alive. It is just a house.
And you are a beautiful young lady. PLEASE do not do this. I will do ANYTHING for you – please just give me a chance to help.
gbguy1970@yahoo.com
Thanks, but in truth, you do not truly know me. I’ve had my so called best friend tell me to stop annoying her, and I’ve been told to not sit with my other friends anymore by them. No one really enjoys my company except when I do stuff for them without wanting anything in return.
And it might just be wood and plaster and paint to you, but to me it’s different. This place holds most of my happiest memories. In a new house, it’d just be an empty shell that I’d only be able to fill with depression. I’d rather die with my joy-filled childhood than anything else.