Whatever
I went to bed early last night around 8 and I'm not sure if this makes me pathetic but I think it does. I sat up and I just stared at my comforter for a long time. I heard a knock on the door. My mother.
What's wrong?
I hate this place
(looks away irritated)
She came back five minutes later and handed me the phone saying it was my sister. Riiiiight, I didn't hear the phone ring.
Hello?
Hi, how are you?
Mom is such a dumbass. She can't handle me and she calls you to make it go away. It's not going to go away. Way to go, Mother. That's just fuckin' irritating.
I'm sorry.
I'm not sure if I should have spoken to my sister in this manner, especially since I haven't spoken to her in a while. And all she got was yelling from me after weeks of non-speaking. I'm not sure if this makes me a bad sister; but I'm having a hard time caring right now. She felt sorry for me because she couldn't do anything. She said that she wishes she could be in my position because she could have handled it better; I'm sure she could have. And it doesn't matter. Don't say that the only reason why I want to come down is because I want to be with Scott. You know nothing. To predict how I feel without weeks of speaking, is ludicrous, absurd. I don't know even know anymore. That couldn't be possibly more far from the truth. Pay fucking attention.
I'm not May Miguel.
I'm not you're little sister; she's dead. And I killed her. I laughed at the stroke which decapitated her. She cares for no one but the irony is that she can't bring herself to hate this world. Whatsoever. She still looks at the sky and is in awe of it's beauty. She's not bitter just nothing. That's it. Just nothing. Keep that in mind; don't dismiss it because you're overlooking a lot more than you think you are.
I don't need to be told how I'm failing up here. I don't need to be told that I'm too weak to stay up here 'cause I know that. Don't pretend like I'm naive or dumb. I know. And especially, don't dare be sorry for something that you are NOT sorry for. I don't need sympathy when you aren't sincere enough to give it. Don't brush away what I'm growing through as a 'phase,' or I might knock your fuckin' head off.
I take it in like a pussy-whipped-bitch up here. I fuckin' bite lip till it's swollen just to keep my mouth shut. Don't tell me it's going to get better when I've tried and nothing has changed. Don't pretend like you know because you don't. Just stop yourself.