come monday morning

To be alive is one thing. To be alive and happy at the same time, now that's something completely different. That's something that.. comes and goes.

I'm alive, yes. Happy, most of the time. It's days like today where I feel like I'm looking over a cliff, about ready to jump but luckily there's always a person or two down there screaming "Oh no, you better fucking not!"

Today someone asked me if I wanted anything from the bagel shop. I asked her to pick me up a knife so I could slit my wrists.

Where do I begin?

I don't even know. Does it even really matter? Does anything really even matter?

I was very excited for today. I was going to go out tonight with Andrew, Alex, Nick, and Keely in my hometown and then go visit my family. For once, for FUCKING ONCE I wasn't dreading what was in store for me at my parent's house. The last time I was there, things went rather well.

To make a long story short, I was all ready to go. I had my presents ready, my bags packed (I was going to sleep on my friend's couch), I was all dressed up and I even put on makeup (hardly do that anymore).

And then I called my mother on the way out. Told her I had a rough day and I needed her. She said that she didn't feel like spending time with me today. And then my father called. He yelled at me. About what, I don't even fucking remember because we both just went off the deep end and the reason of the fight kind of just fell off into the abyss with us.

Next thing you know I'm laying in my bed in my dark bedroom in my clothes with eyeliner running down my cheeks and no intention of leaving my fucking bedroom for the entirety of the Christmas weekend. Or, the rest of eternity rather.

Please, someone shoot me in the head.

I don't get it. I'm all that my parents have. Me not being there isn't only hurting me, but it's also hurting them. This madness has got to fucking stop. When will it fucking end?

Tomorrow I will probably go to my hometown. I'll go to my grandmother's house for her sake. And I'll leave unhappy like 99.9% of the times that I travel up there.

I kind of just want to die. For real. I have every fucking intention of drinking until I puke up my entire life tonight. And maybe I'll luck out and never wake up tomorrow morning.

You know, my parents are the only reason I have to live. Really. Yes, as I said I am very happy. But when things like this happen with my parents, I am reminded that I have nothing keeping me here. The only reason for me to go on from day to day is because my parents would be lost without me.

If I were to die, my parents would die. They have nothing.

I just want to jump off of a cliff. Ugh. Maybe the alcohol will cheer me up.

I'm sure everything will be fine and dandy come Monday morning. I'll visit my parents tomorrow, I'll leave unhappy, I'll mope Sunday, and Monday morning I'll eat a lot of chocolate and start over again. Again.