She Doesn't Care . (Being Edited)

How Long , How Gone ? ; Chapter Twenty .

First of all, I’m really sorry for not uploading! I’ve either been sick, or not at home. Mostly not at home, but when I get home, I always feel like shit so I don’t really feel like writing.

Headaches/Migraines SUCK. Like, really bad.

So, in return for not writing for a while, I’ll finish this chapter and put up a special chapter/actual scene sometime later today (it’s 2am). I’m thinking of doing a family scene, drug scene, or maybe even a sex scene. I may be able to combine all three, and that’d be fucking awesome. So, we’ll see how that works out.

I’M SO SUPERDUPER EXCITED. One of the Lucas Oil Motocross Championships is in the state over from me . OHGOODNESS , I CAN’T WAIT. Mmmmm . Ryan Villopoto and Blake Baggett . Mwah! Adore.

Yeah , I’m a dumbass. Sue me , bitch . (;

I’m gonna kick someone’s ass tomorrow. I’m pretty freaking syked for that. It’ll be hilarious. xD

Any whom, I sure ya’ll don’t care so. .

The chapters are gonna continue being short. Deal with it. For the most part, they have quite a lot in them. You gotta think about the fact that this isn’t a book. It’s more of a memoire. Alright?

Read on.

                I was on my own for about three months before I slipped up. The police found me passed out on the side of a building, barely clothed. I remember telling them a fake name, and them saying there was no trace of me, anywhere. Needless to say, they knew I lied. So I had to tell them my real name, and they found out I was a ‘runaway child‘. Hardly.

                They kept me till they contacted my mother. After that they escorted me to the nearest airport, and sent me back to hell. I remember sitting on the plane, thinking of ways I could ditch out so I wouldn’t have to deal with my mother. I couldn’t think of anything but running as fast and far as I could, the second the plane stopped.

                But instead, the second I stepped off that plane, I was swooped into a hug. It was an actual hug, by my weeping mother. It was one of those moments, I’ll never forget. I honestly didn’t feel the usual disgust and hate, I felt sorrow. I knew she didn’t care about me, but she loved Ryan, I know she did. And he was gone, and it was my entire fault.

                I guess after that everything was okay – for a while. Our family was, okay. It was broken, but it was on the verge of a normal grieving family. My mother didn’t start fights with me, she was either crying, or trying to be nice. Jess was depressed, but she lived on. My step-father was kept together, besides the pain of watching his family hurt.

                As for me, I continued with the drugs. It was the only way to numb the pain and stop the psychotic actions and voices. No one really cared to notice that I was more fucked up than usual, and if they did, they figured it was my form of coping. There was nothing to cope about, his death was my fault. I did it. I live with it every single day.

                As for school, I went. I did some of the work, and I somehow managed to scrape passing grades. It was alright. The people generally ignored me; they all knew I hated everyone, everything.  I had no friends, and I didn’t want any. I didn’t party and I didn’t go out. My life went something like; waking up, doing drugs, going to school, doing drugs, going home, doing more drugs, sleeping.

                I gave up, but kept living. Barely. I felt dead, I looked dead, and I wish I was dead. I stopped bathing and changing my clothes. I stopped feeling regret for my brother’s death. When I saw my family crying, I laughed. I didn’t have sex; I just couldn’t feel the pleasure in it any longer. I’d sit in a catatonic state for hours and hours on end. I kept having delusions, seeing hallucinations. I always felt agitated, anxious, or felt nothing at all. I was so far gone.

                How long does it take to lose your mind?