Hate My LifeMature

     "Fuck life." I murmured to myself as I slammed my bedroom door.  I turned to look at myself in the mirror which was hung on the back of the door and noticed myself crying. I knew why. My mother had driven me to have these thoughts in my head and I wanted to die so bad but I had nothing in my room to do so. I wanted pills, I wanted drugs, I wanted a gun, but I had none and I wanted it to be quick so I couldn't just hang myself. But then the creeping question hopped into my head. Do I truly want to die? Or do I just want things to get better? The answers I may never know, but this wasn't unusual I had a lot of questions in my head left unanswered.

     I curled up into a ball on the my metal bunk bed and felt the anger growing inside me like a monster trying to get out. I immediately sat up and started punching my leg trying to get the anger out of me, I was doing it mindlessly the pain not effecting me at all. A moment later I stopped tears still running down my cheeks and I realized that I had also hit the red bars above me. I knew my knuckles hurt but it didn't hurt like it was supposed to it felt good and the beast within me was calming. Like always my imagination automatically started thinking the impossible, maybe I am becoming invincible, maybe I have a low pain tolerance. I crashed back down to earth from the clouds and realized I am nothing special and that would never happen to me. Life's a bitch and that is just how things were always going to be.

    I collapsed back down on the bed and muffled my crying and screaming into my old dark green blanket , I didn't want my mom to hear me crying, not wanting to buy into her and give her what she wants. I knew it was coming before it actually happened:

     "Bonny!" I heard my moms voice shout it was very similar to a cat meeting its worse enemy. I quickly wiped away my tears but it wouldn't do my eyes were puffy and red and there was no hiding it so I just answered with as much strength I could gather.
"What" I screamed a little louder then intended, my voice also screeched but I was in no mood to be self conscious like I always am.
"Come here" she replied, and I knew she was going to start another argument or get satisfaction in seeing me having been crying. And again hatred and anger flooded me. How could she act like there is nothing wrong when she is slowly breaking me down into a depressed suicidal kid who just wanted to be loved. To release anger I ended up kicking my crappy brown dresser feeling the shock go up my legs, it felt wonderful. I screamed as loud as I could inside my head repeating, I should kill myself write her a note and just say it is all her fault tell her about the drugs I had taken behind her back, smoked those cigarettes, and drank that alcohol, she would be more angry then caring. If anything she would be glad I was gone, I had always been the screw off child, getting in trouble at school, I could only be a burden to her and her supposed "perfect" life.

     "I am not going out there you told me clear as day you didn't want to see me, to be more specific that you said 'I am sick of you go to your room', so I am not coming out, you don't need me."

 

The End

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