laughter lines a dyle book

hurt myself again.

dan's pov:

mum thinks i must be stupid or something. yeah, she probably is right as always. maybe this is just a phase i am going through that really deep down inside i do love girls with big tits or whatever is so special bout the female race. mum thinks that i am just a normal growing teenage boy whom keeps his crushes to himself. she would think i'm stupid for having crushes on guys. i know she would.

my mum expects three things in life from me, those things are:
•grandkids
•wife
•more grandkids.
would i be lying if i said that she has already started buying little kiddie old programs like barney that perverted dinosaur thing who liked demi lovato a bit too much? like this is my life-you gave birth to this freak show-let me be who i want to be.

i think my older sister fran knows about me being gay-she always puts on george michael when ever i am around her. every time i hint to her about me being guy she always says: it's okay. what the fuck does 'it's okay' fucking mean? what's okay? me being gay? or...it's okay? i don't want a cup of mango tea? why the fuck is everything in this world just so fucked up and confusing. it feels like everything is gonna come tumbling down on me.

"dan get your arse down here right now or i will get fran to jump on you!" how i really do my dear mother's threats. i sigh to myself before i get up and drag myself out of my comfort zone.

i go downstairs and grab my toast from the kitchen and go to the living room. I sit down and watch everybody loves raymond while eating my toast to the slowest i can go. "i might pop in around your new job around twelve-just to see how my little brother is doing." fran happily nudges me as i shrug.

"whatever." i know my family who lives in england will show up at our little ryman. ryman the stationary shop where kids stock up on there resources for school or whatever talented shit they fucking do-how i am bound to come face to face with one of my past bullies.

"stop being miserable daniel! It's your first job your ever gonna have!" i yawn eating my toast as i psychically feel sick.

i need to throw this food up first. "i don't feel well." i say before running to the bathroom to be sick. "today of all day's dan! really? oh god...baby throw up in the toilet okay?" i nod my head before shutting the door on my mother who waits outside.

i stick my fingers down the back of my throat and burst out crying when i do so. everyone who has done this immediately loses weight. i just put more weight on if anything. i pretend to be a happy guy but i'm not. "danny, are you okay in there." i throw the acid sick up as she stops knocking on the door. i collapse next to the toilet crying quietly-this is my only release i can give myself. what's the point of escaping reality and release when i'm only locking myself up more?

i give up not looking at my scars and effortlessly pull my shirt sleeve up to see thin red lines-i promised my best friend, ralph that'd i'd stop. but i don't think i can-nobody knows how hard and addicting it was for me to take out my priorities on my skin. the skin i'm in has never gave me the benefit of the doubt in life, just looking at myself in the mirror is worse than any other in this world. it hurts and pain's me to see this fat ugly guy. nobody understands that pain unless your in the same situation as me.

i close my eyes and unseal those closed scars within a matter of seconds with the sharpener razor i had in my pocket for some fucking unknown reason. first it feels good. then i genuinely feel sick for going back on my best friends promise. god, he is gonna hate me. i can never let him know about these three new slices of release.

"dan? baby...you okay?" i don't bother to feel like replying. why should i even fucking open my mouth when all i'm gonna do is lie and say i'm fine?

"dan?" I just close my eyes and pull down my shirt sleeve. i probably am bleeding through my top formal white shirt for ryman so i get my black hoodie from off of the radiator which is drying from my mum's insomniac mid but house cleaning she does every night. she thinks everyone sleeps through her obsessive vacuuming and washing-but little does she know she made her own son an insomniac-I hear her cries for help each night.

even though the hoodie is still wet i put it on anyway. i dry my eyes and make sure there are not red sting marks before opening up the door. I avoid looking at her and walk straight down the stairs past her. "i gotta go work." I mumble under my breath before grabbing my keys and quickly go out of the door as she runs downs the stairs after me. i don't wanna look back but i can sense she is on the bottom step staining at her miserable son.

this is my life and nothing is gonna get in the way. nothing. and i'll make sure of that?

((Recently everyone on here has gone through a totally awesome craze! And I wanna join in! SMALL CAPS IN BIG LETTERS! Ta - daaaaaa!))