Sanity Is A Toy

White padded walls or pink valley girl

We all know the saying 'You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have a say in who hurts you'.
Yes, it may seem cute and hopeful, but damn is it wrong.
To all of you whose life is handed to you on a silver platter, I hate you. You all might be thinking "What is this weird, emo chick talking about?" while taking a sip from your martinis, but if you're anything close to humane, consider it.
This story begins in the worst time period of my life, if anyone's life, high school.

My dream instantly crumbled into a monochrome feeling as my alarm beeped at me, which I metaphorically heard as "Get up, woman!". Annoying sun rays beamed through my window, blinding me as I tried to open my eyes. I groaned, raised my arm to cover them and rolled over.
THUMP
Gravity betrayed me as I fell off my bed onto the cold, wooden floor below. "If the sun hadn't already woken me up, this certainly did" I said to some invisible person, shifting myself to crawl across the floor to the closet. This has defiantly happened before so I usually brush it off, but it doesn't help that my metabolism's spirit animal is a cheetah so all that hits the floor is bone and a waterfall of black hair.
I threw on a black Lolita skull and crossbones shirt, black skinny jeans, swung on my backpack and bolted into a dead run for the bus stop when I read my alarm clock. Seven A.M. The bus comes at 7:05.