Good morning.

        As I am writing this from the cold tiled floor in my bathroom because I am scared for my life to come out, I can feel a stabbing in the bottom side of my stomach and yet again; can't breathe. Why should I be in school? Yesterday at 11:30 pm after the dance: I come home, take a shower, make three calls and get in bed. I am convinced everyone else I know simply passed out the moment they saw a bed. Twenty minutes pass and my mother runs in asking me to do something that has already been done twice that evening. What? You perfectly know how tired I am. "I'm sorry, I can't feel my legs and you just woke me up." Not only do I get a series of insults, but my room door gets slammed so hard that the Pulp Fiction poster across my bed falls off, screeching. Can I sleep now? Fuck no. It's 1:02 am. Thinking about the weekend, drinking my 6th bottle of water for the night, hoping to sleep. 

      It is 7:35 am, she runs in waking me up asking me to do the exact same thing as last night. I was planning on going to school for second period, plus she allowed me in our previous conversation. Even though, I do whatever it is I am told to do. I ask her to sign permission forms for a trip which has a fee of twenty-five dollars. No, you are not getting money. I paid for a trip last week. You're using this money to buy drugs.

Yes, mother, I am.

I get screamed at for twenty more minutes, being told how much of a failure I am. Walk out of the house ten minutes early and walk halfway down the street. I feel my head getting hot like the fever I had two nights ago. Fuck this, I am still getting treated like I did when I started fucking highschool. I walk back home, get in bed, and wish that this week would end.

I honestly love my mom more than anyone in the world. No one cares about me as much (of course), but there is a problem that she herself does not realize. She is completely and utterly insane.

Everything in my life is about "tough love"

All I wish for is to be a character in a book right now. I remember when I was 9,10,11 and all  would do with my time was Harry Potter? As much as we make fun of that now, those were the happiest years of our childhood. Or so it seems at least. I think I'm going to go watch a movie, if I don't get kicked out of the house first.