Don't look at me. Quit talking about me. Don't talk to me. I can't handle it. My hands shake and i can't spell and i'm dumb for not being able to do so. Maybe this is why he never wanted me. Maybe that's why no one will tell me what he did to me. Because i'm too weak to handle it. I'm too weak to handle a lot of things. Heck, i can't handle getting back into the saddle no matter how bad i want to. I can't handle anything really. I can't take care of my little brother, i can't be trusted with a simple task like cleaning the house. They are talking about me, i hear them. My name is getting thrown around the room. Gosh, why can't i just be normal? I thought these pills were supposed to help! Why aren't they working? Am i THAT screwed up? I doubt Mom or Dad ever really wanted me. Maybe after she found out she was pregnant. But Dad was never lived by the Hump and Dump thing. Why do they even put up with me? When i have a panic attack don't even think about talking to me because i'll just cry and run. I hate myself, i hate myself, i hate myself. Why can't i just say i love myself like a normal person? Maybe because i'm so screwed up. I don't WANT to die, but i wouldn't mind if it happened. Does that go under the suicidal category? Do i need to tell someone? No. no one will care anyway.
i wrote this when i was having a panic attack int eh middle of class, and i just let my mind wander and my pen follow.... so i'm sorry for all the jumps from one subject to another. and this is also an original.
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Little Things
Randomthese will be one shots, short stories, poems, basically anything that i write that doesn't go into a story of mine.
