Topic: nothiing iin partiicular
Mood:
Now Playing: Figured You Out -- Nickelback
I want to stay home and fncking sleep. I don't remember what I'm supposed to do for English class (nothing new there lol). Not only can I not focus on anything for more than 30 seconds, but I can't remember anything for 5 seconds either.
My mind is so fncked up ... it's not funny anymore. Maybe it's weed withdrawal. (Ice! I need a favor, man! I'll pay you back, I promise...*does the tongue thing* lmao. No, seriously though....) Naw, Queen Byatch likes to run drug raids on my room. Shitaki mushrooms. Damn it I need to do something!! (Someone take all the sharp objects out of my room please *cough*LayLay*cough*) I'm gonna go crazy. I need an adrenaline rush. Hmmm...that gives me an idea *mischievious grin* (Thomas! Got a match? Lmao.)
You know, if I think about it, this is the sh*t that got me shipped to therapy, isn't it? (Yeah Nat, and you think I'm fncked up!!) Damn I hated that place. (And they thought it would get me to stop cutting...my ass.) Yes, I'm going morbid. Why is it so wrong to be morbid every once in a while?! Maybe some people LIKE being morbid! Maybe some people have a strange fascination with death! Maybe some people have *gasp* -- heaven forbid -- a death wish! And if I feel like talking about it or being morbid in general, then damn it I will be morbid. (Especially because I forget anyone actually reads this until someone says something to me about it lol.)
Fact: I used to cut.
Fact: I am suicidal.
Fact: I am bipolar.
Fact: I am an x-stoner.
Fact: I am fncking insane.
Hey, let's hear a cool story, kids!
One day, a girl was alone, locked into a study/bedroom/storage room with nothing to do while her family went off to drown their own sorrows. She poked around in her suitcase and found a pretty, soft, gray scarf with fringe on the ends. She sat down on the pullout bed and thought about what was going on: Her mom had pretty much left her dad for a while, taken the kids up to grandma's, and then left the girl alone while mom fncked up her life some more. The girl had been wandering apartment halls and hanging out with guys who didn't really give a sh*t about her and only wanted her to fnck them. No one cared about her. The girl started to cry, sitting there on that pullout bed. She took off her necklace, the silver one with the gothic cross on it. She pulled her hair back. Looking back down on the bed, she saw the scarf. She had to do something. She picked up the scarf and wondered how long it would take her to pass out from lack of oxygen.
Turns out, it takes about ten seconds. That girl still has the fncking scar on her forehead. Crescent shaped. Slightly darker than the rest of her skin. Indented. Tiny burn mark at the top.
Wasn't that a nice story? You want another? OK, kids. One more. Then it's bedtime.
Another day, the girl was very sick. She had a fever and kept shivering, but no one paid any attention. Her mom told her to get up out of bed and watch her little brothers while she went to the store for painkillers -- painkillers for her mom. (Her mom was a little sick, too, but in a different way.) The girl fell on the stairs and got a headache. Her littlest brother was crying because he was hungry. She got her brother something to eat and looked in the medicine cabinet for something for her headache. She saw a full box of Triaminic. She slipped the box into her pocket and went to the pantry. She grabbed a box of Goldfish and a glass of milk. Then she went downstairs to her room and started eating the Triaminic tablets like they were candy. After number seventeen, she couldn't take any more. She lay down and almost didn't wake up.
OK, time for bed. Sweet dreams, kids!
Love and Kisses, Ducki
at 4:49 PM EST
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