Chapter Text
I couldn't care less if I cry infront of my teacher or my friends, I could cry in front of the whole school and I still wouldn't give two shits.
I relapsed last week. It felt so good but it felt so wrong. One year of progress down the drain and now I can't stop. I can quit whenever I want.
I don't even wanna rant to anyone either, it's none of their business. My friends have their own problems, they don't need to worry about me. I need to worry for other people to distract myself.
My grades are going down, too. How am I supposed to pass 8th grade if I can't even turn in my own late work? It's my own fault I'm failing, too. I put my head down when things get stressful, I'm just weird.
I wish I was prettier. Body wise, I'm skinny. I like that, but I hate my face. I have the same long face as my mom, and a huge forehead. I can't go out without covering it at least a little. Not only that, but my curly hair frames it horribly. Straight hair's way better, but I like my curls sometimes.
I miss my ex sometimes. But at the same time I wonder if he even liked me in the first place. I think I was just a placeholder.
I usually tell my mom everything, but she'll just blame it on my generation. She'll say I'm sensitive and soft-hearted and everything bad, she couldn't understand how much that makes me want to kill myself. I hate when she calls me things. I hate when she compares. I hate when she huffs and puffs about MY emotions when she's pushing thirty. I know how to kill myself, I'm not an idiot. I could if I wanted to really really bad. Sometimes I wonder what my mom would do if I did commit suicide. Mom doesn't think mental health matters, anyway. It's just my generation, I guess.
Tonight I drew seven more red lines.