XOXO, "Sissy Boy".

Princess Die

I wish that I was strong.
I wish that I was wrong.
I wish that I could cope,
But I took pills and left a note...

TRY NOT TO CRY IN THIS CHAPTER.
PTSD in my opinion isn't treatable by a pill... unless you decide to take the whole bottle.

I've suffered from PTSD since 4th grade when I was raped by an older boy at my school. I've never told anyone. I never told because I was scared to be humiliated and really just scared of what people were going to say to me afterwards.

This is probably a contributing factor to me being the way I am. I used to be a shy boy who was always tucked away in the corner. Now, after some heavy drugs and lots of music, I consider myself as a Phoenix rising from the ashes.

I think if I were to tell my mother I was raped she would just call me a liar and an attention whore. I really can't tell anyone else because they either won't take me seriously or I'm not even out to them yet. The only reason I haven't probably slit my throat yet is because I write sit and write songs for hours at a time and I listen to music... lots of music. This may sound a little cliche but Music really saved my fucking life.

If you were confused by the ending of the last chapter then it's probably because you didn't know that I'm basically obsessed with the Music Game and The Fame. I plan to be Lady Gaga's and Lorde's pop lovechild. Depending on when your reading this... I might be a fucking Grammy winner already. Or I might just be another dead guy. Whichever comes first. Wish me luck.
                                               - XOXO, Si$$y Boy.