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I don’t honestly do not know why I am even writing this. Big brother can watch me have my nervous breakdown, I  guess. It was not at all in my intentions to be one of those people who threaten their selves with their lives when things get hard. That’s weak, right? Although, I’m struggling to understand that, it makes your mentality to have strenuous strength to cope with the inevitability. Here’s the kicker, I am 16. I haven’t even lived to have the urge to end it, right? Ahhhhhhh, or maybe it could be the raging hormones and the typical teenage babble like, he said she said bullshit. Maybe, just maybe, we can call whatever this is normal. Tonight, I’ve never felt such physical pain be so evident from symptoms of my own mentality. I can actually feel with my hands and my toes the torturous sadness that overwhelms my mind. The anxiety is in my gut and in my heart, the anger is evident from the scars and open wounds on my knuckles, and the memories are what leads me to this fucking website. I can’t say my life is bad, anymore anyway. I am an honor student and I start basic for National Gaurd next summer, I work two jobs 40-50 hours a week AND go to school. I want to be a Languistics in the military after I Graduate … Which pays 100% tuition into any college I decide to attend. I love working, I love school… I love the idea I will one day be successful. But will I, really? I was molested as a child, which I am honored to say had no effect on me whatsoever even to this day. I didn’t even tell my piece of shit heroin addict mother about it until I was 13. All of which she made me still make amend with the man, and I do…and it does not bother me. What bothers me is when it happened I saved my sister from it, I have no idea where that courage came from and I can’t seem to find it these days, but I went downstairs to my mother in hopes she could cater to my confusions and disgust…but she wasn’t there….so I put my sister to bed knowing shed be safer then I, sleeping in the carpeted floor waiting for my parents arrival. I remember good times… Like catching fire flies and collecting cattapillars from their nests. I also remember being hungry, and the door being locked and having to literally piss in a pot my mother provided my sister, brother, and I.  I remember my sisters fear resulting in urinating herself…my brother bleeding. I remember being lonely, no matter how much mamma hurt us I still wanted her touch and affection which was only when she got a cotton shot, when I showed her the vein to use. She got so cold that I’d have to look for the cleanest blankets and hover over her. My father would speed off of heroin, which we joke about now, he never slept which resulted in hallucinating. I didn’t care about his neglect as much as my mother’s. But eventually of course school let in and we lived normal lives for 7 hours…then back to our unheated, wretched, drug invested, foodless, “home”. Where my brother spent his 15 years reading, until he got taken away by the state for his first drug charge, never passing the 9th grade. Whome I did miss very much. When I turned 13 I was on that same path, simply not because I was a troubled child, I loved the attention and the pills. I started my first sexual relationship with my father’s best friend. Whome my father would get rid of my sister and I to when they wanted to party. I loved him, he taught me how to play guitar, politics, philosophy, everything and anything about music. (I am also a musician in my town). Ironic…something so disgusting made so much of the beauty I’ve written. No doubtely we got caught…and he went to jail and to my surprise I was NOT disowned by my father. When I turned 15 I started a normal relationship with my brothers best friend. Ahahahahahaha. I have obvious issues. But as it turned out, he was also a drug addict. But while I believed he changed his ways…I did to. I stopped taking pills. I went to school. And in agreement he lived with me. To cut that story short …he died. Reason be….my brother. In MY bed. And I spent the time awaiting the ambulance trying to save him. He was my reason. The morning after I started my first job. I finished the semester of school…and guess what? My parents got clean. So now…the house is clean, but my brother is 19 and a father and the biggest piece of shit on the planet. The fridge is full and the water is hot. But I don’t have a relationship with my mother. I work two jobs and have many friends…but my 15 year old sister is pregnant. I envy my boss who caters to me like a father…but he’s not my father…and nothing is how I had planned.  Put aside the stress of financial abilities, school, and how many pushups I can do in 2 minutes…and the pressure to succeed. My life…is complicated…so here I am.