Unstable.

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I stare blankly at my mother as she huddled over the stove. 

The aroma of what she was cooking brought back memories of happier times in my life. 

I lean up against the kitchen counter and cross my arms over my chest and remain quiet while she lectures about my grades.

 I drown out the sound of her voice with my own morbid thoughts of just dying some day. 

Yeah I know you don't want to hear about death but that's what mostly consists of my own being.

 We're all slowly dying on the inside, every day we grow older and our internal organs decay over times. 

So you can't say I'm suicidal for just wishing this process we call death would occur faster than usual.

"You see honey, you just have to apply yourself." Mom explains as she turns around, her voice finally fading in as I snap back into this shitty thing you call reality.

 
"Yeah, mom." I agree quietly, leaning in to hug her tightly. I know she only means well.

"You need anything?" She questions me while pulling back from the embrace as I stare blankly at the wall behind her.

"No, mom." I say with blank expression. I probably should be happy for my mothers sake but the fact that I've lost everything that ever mattered to me, I'm scared to get close enough to show her I have any emotions anymore because I know in result I'll lose her presence and I'll be alone. 

At least that's what I've been told to believe since I was younger. Maybe I over think too much, but either way I know what I have to do to get by. Financially Were unstable-- actually no. We're poor. 

We use my grandparent's social security checks to pay our rent and they don't even live with us. Shows how sorry they feel for us, and to make it better we live off food stamps. 

And that means we only get food once every month and we're lucky if it lasts two weeks. Enough about this, I suppose you want to know what the fuck is wrong with me right? 

Well, Mom can't quite figure it out, and frankly neither can I. So here's a question. How do we expect my therapist to figure me out?

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