A dump and a piss and a bloody bruised fist

Urgh. I hate my mother. It isnt even a point where im going through a teenage crisis type thing. The whole, I hate my mom issue when ure 16. its different. I can never understand her. Why say things knowing full well that it’ll provoke the hell out of me. So what if the fucking cat pissed and took a dump in the family hall. Screw that! You think it takes a day for a cat that isn’t litter box trained to learn it overnight?! Screw you mom. All you know how to say is to throw the cat out throw the cat out throw the cat out. Why don’t u just throw me out instead. Let me quit school. live in the dumps. Huh?! Why don’t you. You’re making it seem like getting rid of things is beginning to be your forte anyway. Why don’t you just freaking throw your own kid out on the streets then. Then maybe, just maybe, you’d get a tinge of what I’m feeling right now. I hate you.

Im tired. Ive had 2 hours of sleep last night, and ive got to deal with this now. My dad’s been knocking at the door for the past 5 mins. I don’t think I’ve ever locked myself in like that before. Then again, having a balcony that links to my sister’s room, and non existent curtains, I don’t think the whole locking myself in is working very well. It’s a good thing my room’s self sufficient. And that I’ve got heroes from jay to endure the next few hours of mia-ness. Somebody save me from my misery.

I just re-read what I typed. I think I’ve calmed down a little. Blogging helps, somehow. It lets it out. Beats punching your fists against the wall. I feel so immature blasting away like that. But why should i care. So be it then. Welcome to my life.