Diaries of a crazy person: Home is hell

02.08.2019

Dear diary,
Why do I start everything with a "dear diary"? It's strange...
Anyways.. my uncle died a week ago and I feel depressed about it.. He was a good guy.. he died because he overdosed. He was a drug addict and dealer. I've been feeling really down lately even though today has been quite great. I'm at my lover's place today. I don't know when I'm going back home. To be honest.. I don't want to go back home. My mother will yell at me and be mad at me for nothing as usual. I just want to disappear.. It's like she has forgotten how hard everything is for me at the moment.. well.. she'll get rid of me anyway.. Home is hell.. just like I named the first part of my diary. I'm going to run away from home eventually. I'll just vanish somehow.. I don't know how yet.. I'll get out of here one day though.. I've been thinking about committing suicide.. you only live once though.. so there won't be another opportunity. I really haven't realized how much deep shit I'm in right now. I guess it still hasn't hit me yet. I just try to live in the moment. If you ever read this mom.. I'm sorry I couldn't be the perfect child to you.. though I doubt you'll ever get to read it.. I'm sorry I never listened to you. I'm sorry I was never good enough. I'm just so fucking sorry! You think you did something wrong don't you? Well.. maybe you did.. but it's my choice.. I can do whatever the fuck I want with my own life. This is my life and I won't let you control it. I don't want to be the perfect child that is and always will be just a dream of yours. I'm done trying to act like I'm alright.. I'm done trying to be someone who I'm not. I'm just so fucking done with everything.. and even though you don't like my lover.. It's my choice who I love and not yours. This is MY LIFE not YOUR LIFE. I love my lover more than I've loved anyone or anything before. And you can never take them away from me. Krad might not even believe me when I say that I love them.. but.. I truly do love them. And I would never leave them.. even when they break my heart or hurt me in the worst ways possible. I would do anything.. and I mean anything for them. I would walk through hell and heaven for them. I would kill myself over and over again for them. Anything they ask for.. I'd do it in a heartbeat. And they make me happy by just existing. By just staying there for me. And you know what? They'll never leave me unlike you! They'll never leave me to rot In the dungeon unlike you! They will never feed me the lies about the death of my close ones unlike you! And they would never tell me the things you have.. and you know what? You're my fucking mother and you can't love your own daughter for being who she is! Is that really so much to ask for? Am I some sort of a slave to you or something?! WHAT AM I TO YOU?!

There's no point.. you'll probably never read it.. but whatever.. I HATE YOU MOM.

Pheww.. now that I'm over with it.. I can talk about my day.. today me and Krad walked around doing our job as street artists.. or well.. Vandals. We drew literally everywhere. And it was fun.. until now... Until now that I feel alone even though I'm here.. sitting near Krad.. what's wrong with me?
Why can't any happy moment last for longer than a few seconds, minutes or hours? Why can't happy moments last forever? Why does everything have to end like a movie? Sometimes I feel like life's a game.. people say things like: "Life's not a game so don't finish it. Skin is not paper so don't cut it. And your face and body aren't a terrible painting so don't ruin it." But that's exactly how everything is. That's exactly how I am. I'm the most awful painting ever created. I'm the most terrible story ever written. And my skin is the oldest and ugliest paper you can ever find. My life is the book that wants to be thrown into the flames when people simply look at it's disgusting covers that are decorated with pain, suffering, blood, alcohol, coffe, drugs, cigarettes and lip tobacco...

My heart is the sound of glass breaking when a glass bottle is thrown onto the ground with force.

My soul is as empty as the pack of cigarettes on my table after a mental breakdown.

I'm just as hurt as the bird that broke it's wings while falling and is never going to be able to fly again.

My eyes are as puffy as if I've cried for hours.

My wrists are stained with a crimson coloured liquid that slowly drips down.. that are then licked away by the person I love.. the person who takes away my pain at times...

Anyways I should probably stop writing for today..