"Oh. My god." I said while I realized something. "IT'S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY, GUYS!" I screamed into the camera facing me. "HHHHHHHOOOOOOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT." I paced back and forth with my hands on my cheeks, in a cupping format.
"Hey! Why are you screaming!?" A familiar voice saif behind my locked door. "SORRY, FRANK!" I replied. Frank was my step father. He drank and smoked, even though he knew my lungs could die from breathing it in. Sometimes, I wish he shit his organs out.
Even though we used to be a great family of 4, my birth parents didn't get along, after my birth and, when my older brother could speak. My father's unlike others. He's protective, but pushes you to try your hardest. No, not try. To DO your hardest. There's no doubt that's a big peice in my bi-polor disorder...
My thoughts get interrupted when one of my favorite artists came on my playlist. It was Panic! At the Disco, of course! It was 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies'. I started singing along and doing a stupid dance while standing on my bed.
"And I chim in with a
'haven't you people ever heard of,
closing the,
GOD DAMN DOOOOORRRSSS! No?' it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationalittttttyyyyyyyyy!"
I sang along.
_ _ _ _ _ _
This may be continued if you like it :3
YOU ARE READING
Vent thingy
Short StoryThis is only a vent, just to ease my mind when I get overwhelmed. As reference, this was all posed around when I was finding out I was a system.
