Hate & love

Chapter 40

Please let me rest. Please? I need to escape, I need to sleep. Actual sleep. I don't want a flashback of my misery.

If I have to, please let it be a happy time.

Please, I can't do this. I just want to get actual rest.

Is that too much?

I'm guessing it is. I have what I need, don't I? No, not really. I haven't had real rest for a long time.

It's excruciating, almost.

To constantly cry, is something horrible, I don't want to have this. I need to grow up, out of this false reality.

People aren't meant to be locked up. Maybe I am possessed, that's what some people believe, that hurts.

They don't understand, anything.

My life is hard enough, but someone decides that I'm possessed.

Really?

It's sad, truly. It makes me want to die, when I remember this. I just want to crawl in a ball, and talk, actually talk, to someone.

Not myself, my persona needs help, they laugh. I should laugh and not be thought of as a disgrace.

I did not, ask for this. It was not my intention to be born, let alone this life.

I didn't ask for my dad to die, or have an abusive mom. She made her bed, and she needs to lay in it, to bad she dug her grave, deep.

I'm glad she's gone. What if I told them it was a homicide.

Would they even believe me? Maybe.

Maybe if I told then, they'd feel less sympathetic, but possibly more.

They don't believe I was even abused, they thought It was self inflicted, of course not intentionally. They said I was hallucinating, but I know I was not.

I normally can tell, I got lucky. As lucky as a crazy can be, I guess.

I have too many issues, I feel bipolar.

Maybe.

At least I don't have O.C.D, because that wouldn't mix well.

I don't like being neat, actually, it seems bad. I like a mess.

It feels weird following that nature, of wanting something neat and clean.

I'm not compulsive.

I'm so angry, too. I'm alone again.

I'm going to be here for so long, without anyone who I know, I can relate to.

Who else has my tragic life?

Us

"Well, no crap."

You can't see this, but I'm rolling my eyes.

"Good for you."

Anyways, I can't do this, not alone. I will miss him. I don't even know how long I'm staying here.

A long time? A short time? Moderate?

Short, is what I hope. Then I'd be able to go back to the real life, where people don't worry about us. Where I can feel normal.

Here I'm constantly reminded I'm not.

The rest I desperately needed sang to me.

I can't, I'm sorry. I want to, but it's easier said than done.