it’s the little things that hurt the most

Sticks and stones may hurt me, but your words will not harm me.

That’s how it’s supposed to be right?

Right?

I guess not.

I’m writing this while my parents are yelling. Again. This time it’s about how I’ve ruined my own life…how I’m not like anyone in the family…how I don’t fit in this family…how I’ll never amount to anything…and how…

And it hurts.

It hurts a lot. As much as I try to block it out, it hurts to know that I can and will probably never make anyone happy.

But I don’t need them. I have a good life going.

It’s a bit tricky at times…but I’ll get through it.

I am weak. But I’m getting stronger.

Just need some time.

Gah… I want it to be monday already. I want to get everything done so I can do more things.

Just a random writing blurb in my day.

Back to work on two three essays, two newspaper stories, a newscast, a psa, a special project, and whatever else is left.

I hate sleeping. I hate driving. I hate myself for wasting time.

 

 

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