His mom doesn't like me. I don't even like myself.
I don't remember writing the first chapter. I don't remember being ok, anytime in my life. And don't know what it's like to wake up and be excited for the day anymore. Days go by, I try to handle them. I try to cope, I try to work as hard as I can while crying all the time.
I don't know what it would take for me to be ok. I hate to complain about my life, and I hate even more when people don't understand. I hate writing these words, knowing no one will read them. I hate sounding like a sad version of a pick me.
