When they don’t understand

My counselor asks me what I’m going to do when my mother is gone.  Then I’ll be on my own and I’ll be forced to learn how to be viable outside the womb… haha.

I make hints at my true intentions, but she doesn’t seem to pick up on them.  All she knows is that it will be tough.  I told her that there would be nothing, but perhaps I think differently than other people.  Nothing to me signifies blackness.  I will neither see nor feel.

It’s the only choice given the circumstances.  Nobody can spare me from being stuck here the rest of my life.  So I wait, and I let the days drag me on.

Haha, it is the only dream I have left now.  What would they do if they knew what I had planned?  In reality there is nothing they can do.  They can’t help me, so they can’t save me.  No one can save me, not even myself.  It’s far too late for that.  My life was ruined before I ever had a chance.  The fragments are far too small to put back together.

The end can’t come fast enough.

Valentine’s is coming and it will be lonely like the other 364 days of the year.  I won’t even notice it passing.  Time is speeding up.  Though the wasted time fills me with dread, the thought of drawing closer to death ought to please me.  Ought to.  It will be my end, as alone as I’ve lived.  Poetic justice?

Although I wouldn’t mind finding a way to create some chaos against the system before I go out.  They don’t have to care, they’d just have to live with whatever I choose to do.  Since there’s nothing good I can contribute.  Rats in cages don’t have far to go.

I’ll be the psychotic person they want me to be.  I’ll be heard, once.  I’ll show them what they built by ignoring me, harming me.

And then they’ll understand that it was over before it began.