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My mother just doesn't understand how much I don't care.
She yells at me.
She screams, "Don't you give a s**t about anything?"
I lie to her face.
She just gets louder.
Her voice eventually gets drowned out by the high pitched noises.
I start shaking.
She doesn't notice she's wrapped up in relieving her stress on me.
She eventually leaves.
Goes in her room to starts crying and listing to music, or leaves to go drink or something.
In that sense I guess we have some things in common well minus the crying.
I can't seem to recall the last time I cried.
I feel as though it was pretty recent.
My father's family is trying to get me to come to Texas.
Everyday that goes by it seems like a better idea.
It's either that or eventually I'm going to murder her.
The noise is getting louder, and I don't have nails to bite.
The shaking is getting worse.
This role I have chosen is getting harder to play.
My performance is hardly befitting.
My muscles are tightening too much lately.
It's getting hard and painful to move.
Running is no longer relieving the stress it used to.
Honestly even music isn't doing it.
My "fantasies" are becoming corrupted.
My anger is starting to stain my very being.
It is getting worse.
I'm noticing the decay.
Things will calm down soon I'm sure.
Nothing happy has happened to me lately.
So nothing all that bad should happen.
Unless this is a new shitty chapter in my life.
"The only way to make a happy ending is to choose where to end the story.."
I got that from a game and it's probably going to stick.
I like it cause at the time it was referring to death.
It might not seem like that to others I suppose.
Well maybe it does.
I don't fit in.
At least not the real me.
My anger leads takes a detour in self-loathing and stops in depression.
There's a bright side though.
I get to choose where to end this story.