The Blue House

The Blue House

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, May 24, 2014
I can’t tell the difference between living and surviving. Maybe I have a morphed sense of the world. A dysfunctional way of thinking. I can’t remember what happiness feels like. What brought me to this? At what point did my brain levels begin to shift and twist to this upmost fucked up state. Deleting all trace of dopamine within me. Let me begin… "The Blue House" follows and anonymous girl as she recites her life story in order to find the source of her depression.
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- Not completed-Do you ever just sit in your room at night and think about everything? Why you were born, what’s the point of living? Are you even needed in this cruel world? Do you ever just think, would anyone even miss me if I’m gone? These thoughts run through my mind pretty much every night. I lie in bed, staring at my ceiling with tears rolling down my cheeks. Normally along with several fresh marks embedded into my stomach and skin. Nobody would ever know though, why would they? It’s not like my family are remotely interested in me or anybody for that manner. Well, I use the term ‘family’ extremely loosely. My ‘family’ basically consists of me living with my uncle who doesn’t even register that I’m living in the same house as him. He basically uses me for the benefits so he can buy more cigarettes and spent more money on prostitutes. I use the term ‘house’ loosely also, I wouldn’t call it a house. I would call it a two bedroomed shack on the rough side of town

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