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It'll be my birthday in two days and I'm not sure if I'm excited or suspicious.
These are the memoirs of a sad soul.
This is a confession of a Top Hat.
More than once, I've met with disappointment before. In the past, my family doesn't seem... to care.
I can't go into full detail without sounding like a bitch, but... I always felt it was true.
They don't care.
I didn't even have a 15th birthday party.
You see... all my cousins and uncles and family friends have big beautiful birthday parties with cake and ice cream and love and ACTUALLY talking to you. They love to hug you. They love to be around family and friends that circle you, but don't interact with YOU. Ironic? Yes. Cruel and unusual? Certainly.
That's what real love is. Talking to you. Hugging you. Telling someone they matter.
What a big mistake I made to rely on them for happiness.
But my life... my life has to be like 'this'... it has to keep going up. During the time my 'fake' birthday was happening, I've often caught myself crying in bed because I wish so badly that my mom was here. I remember during my 18th birthday that she came to my school during 7th period with a BIG smile, a bouquet of flowers, and kisses to my head.
That's what I want.
It's all I ever wanted.
TO be loved.
To be remembered I was born in 1994.
My suspicion is that... everyone knows that I can be a greedy monster and they pay no homage or attention.
Now that I think of these absurd thoughts, a quick trip to Vegas is all I need to feel better. Maybe they'll notice I'll be gone. Maybe they'll notice that I can hurt, too. Just one night. One night of heavy drinking, dancing, and tears. Maybe meet a much older man and run off with him in his house he bought with blood money and cocaine.
I want something to comfort me.
Someone to help me.
Someone to make it go away.
Make it feel better.
If I am met with sadness once again... on my 21st birthday, that's exactly what I'll do. I need to go to Vegas. Alone. To help myself.
To drink.
To dance.
To meet a dangerous romantic stranger.
To self destruct.
These are the memoirs of a sad soul.
This is a confession of a Top Hat.
More than once, I've met with disappointment before. In the past, my family doesn't seem... to care.
I can't go into full detail without sounding like a bitch, but... I always felt it was true.
They don't care.
I didn't even have a 15th birthday party.
You see... all my cousins and uncles and family friends have big beautiful birthday parties with cake and ice cream and love and ACTUALLY talking to you. They love to hug you. They love to be around family and friends that circle you, but don't interact with YOU. Ironic? Yes. Cruel and unusual? Certainly.
That's what real love is. Talking to you. Hugging you. Telling someone they matter.
What a big mistake I made to rely on them for happiness.
But my life... my life has to be like 'this'... it has to keep going up. During the time my 'fake' birthday was happening, I've often caught myself crying in bed because I wish so badly that my mom was here. I remember during my 18th birthday that she came to my school during 7th period with a BIG smile, a bouquet of flowers, and kisses to my head.
That's what I want.
It's all I ever wanted.
TO be loved.
To be remembered I was born in 1994.
My suspicion is that... everyone knows that I can be a greedy monster and they pay no homage or attention.
Now that I think of these absurd thoughts, a quick trip to Vegas is all I need to feel better. Maybe they'll notice I'll be gone. Maybe they'll notice that I can hurt, too. Just one night. One night of heavy drinking, dancing, and tears. Maybe meet a much older man and run off with him in his house he bought with blood money and cocaine.
I want something to comfort me.
Someone to help me.
Someone to make it go away.
Make it feel better.
If I am met with sadness once again... on my 21st birthday, that's exactly what I'll do. I need to go to Vegas. Alone. To help myself.
To drink.
To dance.
To meet a dangerous romantic stranger.
To self destruct.
What a Sweetheart
After my drunken scandal last night, I've decided to get the balls to finally ask him over and talk to him and confront him
It wasn't actually a confrontation, but it was more... intervention. And by that I mean, clear the fog and get out of this funk we've been in together for a long long time
I've been down in the dumps for the past 11 hours thinking that I ruined two people's chances at happiness, when in fact I didn't
For so long I've tried so hard to be the best friend that I always wanted to be and to receive that benefit in return
And maybe I did the right thing and maybe it'll be enough to remedy the guilt like ice cold water to a
What An Asshole
Ok, truth be told. It was a tiny interest. Not the school girl into the boy INTEREST, but a small interest. The kind that I just couldn't keep a fucking secret, so I told my friend and it was nice at first. He was interesting. Not the normal person you would meet every day. It was a fascinating interest.
The kind that makes you think... "What if..."
And then you realize that the guy you like isn't boyfriend material... he was more like friend material. Worse than that? He was Father material.
And then the horror struck me like a shovel to the face. Oh my god he reminds me of my dad! He's around the same age and has the same wonderful perso
August 17
It's been three days since I've moved into my new apartment and so far.... my life has been one big chaotic happy amazing time, I can't believe it.Every day when I wake up in my new bed and I realize that it's not my old room, I get confused for a moment, and remember... oh yes, this is my place. My own place. Then I smile and sleep in until noon because there's no one to tell me otherwise. Three days ago had been a huge turning point. Not the kind that defines me but the kind that sets me free from the house of horror. And by horror I mean my horrible uncle. I'm so happy I don't have to deal with his drunken pathetic human life form again. T
The Best Parts
The best parts of being in an abusive household are the memories of all the things that happened to you
Like the drunken nights and the arguments and the fights and the swearing
The best part of being curled on my bed while everyone was yelling? It was being alone.
Finally being alone! Where no one can call you anything bad or anything they would regret if they were sober
It's a part of being a young adult that we all learn from time to time
Whether it's hard to admit or to easy to confess their crimes-- we all bare the scars that our elders give us
Scars to scars, they were lessons hard learned and burned into our memories so we wouldn
© 2015 - 2024 ShangriLaLove28
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