I cut on my legs because I don’t have pets to blame for any wrist scars.
My roommate saw my thighs. She thought they were stretchmarks.
“I have them too,” she sighed, “and they’re hard to get rid of.”
A lot of things are hard to get rid of.
To sum things up, I don’t like my life.
By no stretch of the imagination is my life the worst. The hardest, the most miserable. But I still hate living.
My childhood was verbally abusive. I live with the constant guilt of driving a loved one to their death because of my neglect. I was molested in the 7th grade. My friends don’t ever invite me to their social gatherings, though I guess I wouldn’t want to hang around with me either.
My family and myself are in deep shit financially.
In school, I have advanced classes. Did well on the SATs, state tests, the like. But […]