I'm Not Ok

Tara

I snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. So far, no alarms seem to have been set.

I tip toed over to the front door and slipped on my shoes.

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself walking down main street of some town I barely knew.

Pulling out my phone, the screen lit up, disllaying the seventeen missed calls from Mom. Whatever. She didn't notice me then, why would she care now?

I turned down a short dead-end ally between two buildings. I sat down in front of one of those huge green dumpsters that never get emptied.

I'm not ok. I hate myself and the way I act. I hate the terrible habits I've formed. I hate other people feeling bad for me. I'm not ok.

I'm not ok.