I didn't get to finish my article in its entirety yesterday so I'm back at the ol' computer trying to finish putting words to screen.
The reason I hate my parents is because they are both unemployed. I am the only one at home working. The only reason I still live at home is because my parents expect me to. If I didn't live at home I'd be living on the streets. I make like $400 a month. That's it. I pay my parents $100 a month (or $50 a paycheck) for "room and board."
I want to fucking kick them in the heads sometimes. I was diagnosed as clinically depressed when I was in the 8th grade. When we got home they said that I lied on the test that they gave me. They said "Get over yourself."
The first time I remember being depressed like this was in 4th grade. My dad told me he was disappointed in me because I lied to them about something. I don't remember what it was. He told me to go to my room and I did. I had this plastic credit card sized tag that came on my Harley-Davidson shoes and I was saving. Well, I picked it up and started scraping it across the top of my hand until I bled. When my dad saw it, I didn't care that he was mad, that he was freaked out and started crying. I didn't care. I felt somewhat better.
In 7th grade I first heard about cutting. It sounded intriguing to me. I tried it the next time my dad pissed me off. It felt so good to feel the blood running down my wrist and arm. I licked it off and shivered with the wonderful taste of it.
Last night I was at work and I wanted to jump off the roof. We have a ladder going to the roof for when they put things on the roof and I kept saying I was gonna climb the ladder and jump off. Everyone laughed and thought I was joking because they thought I was frusterated because we were so busy.
Later, I was supposed to get off at 10:00p (I closed for a guy who had to be to the group home by 11:00p), I was so pissed off that I started to cry. I went in the back room and stood there and cried. Then one of the guys there that I can stand came back and asked what was wrong. I told him I was depressed and he said, "There's three possibilities. One, you're pregnant. Two, you're overtired. Three, you're depressed." Then I said, "I wish my mom (my biological one) was here. I need a hug." He asked if he could give me one. I said yes. He gave me a hug and I cried on his shoulder. Then I showed him the scars on my wrists and he asked what happened. I told him they were from a couple of weeks ago, when I was depressed.
So things still suck. I work with him again tonight.
I love y'all.
Lovvens,
*grins/cries*
