I hate this house. I hate Ottawa, I hate the whole damn province. I hate what this place has always stood for. Since I moved to this fucking urban wasteland all I’ve felt was angry, depressed and suicidal.
I hate what this house stands for too. In this house all that’s happened was me getting yelled at, me yelling back, me crying, and me being ignored. I hate the kitchen, this is where all the fights happen, this is where all the knives that I can never use are. I hate the living room, I spent an hour there yesterday being explained exactly how I’m nothing but a financial burden to them. I hate the basement, this was where I was threatened to be kicked out onto the street (I’m 13 btw). I hate my bedroom, the place supposed to be where I can express my creativity, slathered with the blue paint I’ve always hated when I wanted to paint the room red, my bedroom is my prison that I can almost never leave. I hate the bathrooms, where all the cruel mirrors are, pointing out all my flaws. I hate this fucking house.
Yesterday was the final straw. Yesterday I was stripped of every single coping technique I’ve ever used, I was ripped from my only escape from the cruel and shitty world I’m trying so desperately to stay in, yesterday my parents told me that I’m just a financial burden, yesterday I was punished for standing up for myself, yesterday my parents were totally blind to the fact that I am depressed (they were too busy telling me that I’m the problem in our “family” and how I am always the reason why my mother cries- not true). Yesterday, I finally got tired. I’m so damn tired of always being blamed for the problem, before anyone says a word. I’m tired of being the only child that gets screamed at for everything I try to do to express myself, I’m tired of not being able to SPEAK in front of my parents because they always yell at me for being disrespectful when I’m just trying to express how I feel. I’m so damn tired of this. This story’s going to end soon, and it’s going to end with me finally in my grave.