You try and hold back your tongue when your busting to scream and the blood drips down the edge of your mouth as you close your eyes in shame.

It's hard to believe how young you are and how old you feel all at the same time.

It's funny what time does to you.

You know something is wrong when you hardly speak to your parents but they are the only people you see besides the countless faces at school.

It's hard to believe that I've gotten so distant.

You know it's gotten to a place of silent pain when your mother is blubbering exhaustable tears in the same room on the neighboring couch while you watch music videos. She's crying over what you said to her. She's crying over what she can't help you with. She's crying because she's loosing a daughter.

It's just funny how cold I've gotten while I sit and listen to how her cries sing along with the chorus.

I just forget so many things. And there must be something wrong in my head if tears don't phase me, when pain hardly grieves me, and when cuts don't wrong me.

I know I'm suppose to hate the person that I am becoming and do something about it. I just don't know how anymore. I just hardly care.

I was an A student and my grades have fallen to C's and D's. I score in the retard percentages of the PSATS. I am not involved with anything in the school. I'm a useless decoration. A perfectly good waste of a daughter. I have no more respect and I don't offer love. I have nail marks bleeding on the back of my hand to prove it. My voice is scratchy from the screaming. I wish I didn't scream so hard.

I know how I'm acting is wrong. I know the fact that I want to hit my mother square in the face is one of the most shameful thoughts I've ever could have dreamed up. The fact that I believe that loving is obligatory just makes me feel sick to my stomach. When did I become such a person? That I toss the feelings of my own mother out the window?

A battle of screaming and tears. And more hate. So much hate and pain. It's overwhelming. Sometimes everything just gets sort of quiet and my legs get tired. And I don't know what to think about all the things I've done this year or lack thereof.

I just don't know anymore.

It's not that big of a deal but it is. Ya know? I just wish I could convey what I truly feel. That hearing my mother cry in heartbreaking, ear-splitting tears is what I'm use to. It's sick. And I feel sick. God, I hate myself.

The funny thing is this is daily routine; it's what I am use to because I don't remember how to deal with it in any other way.

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