Blinded; scattered. Ram ram-bam. Hello.

I think it was Dennis who fucked me over, now that I think about it. Because when he and I stopped being so close, I fell away into a sort of depression, and I suddenly felt so alone. I didn’t have that close friend anymore. I did try, though. But then…

I just stopped trying. And I stopped trying with everyone. But let’s backtrack.

One thing, starts a snowball of things. Because I don’t express myself properly. I don’t let people in, because in truth, I get hurt. Very, very, very easily. I’m a very broken person, in reality, and maybe that’s why I try so hard to make everyone else happy, and hope for their cheerfulliness. Because. I. Don’t. Want. Them. To. Feel. The. Way. I. Do.

I do know the terrible loneliness. I do. Try being alone–completely. The last kid to be picked up at camp. At school. Sitting and waiting. Waiting at home. Waiting at the babysiters house.

Years and years of hurtful loneliness. So maybe I snapped, and maybe–maybe–there’s something wrong with me. But whatever it is, I do know I did it to myself. To choose such over reality has to be saying something. I know loneliness, I know it so well that I cannot be left alone.

At all. At anytime.

Isn’t that horrible? I cannot, literally, be alone, because I snap. Because I can’t handle it. I can’t just go to the mall by myself, I can’t be home alone by myself, I can’t do anything by myself. Somedays its so bad I have to follow people around everywhere.

I don’t become suicidal, that isn’t the problem. I’ll destroy the house, I’ll scream and cry, and I may even try and hurt myself–but never have I been suicidal. I don’t want to die, and I never will. I just…

I go crazy.

And this is another reason that I don’t do close relationships. Or rather, why I didn’t. But then there was Dennis–and he become a constant. But then, I wanted away, and he pulled in the other direction as well.

And then there was the Mall Group. But the mall was a constant stress to me–too many people. The dirstraction, however, was often brilliant. The group was nice. But I struggled being myself, as I often do. The sarcastic, somewhat cunning and manipulative person I tend to be–because it seemed much easier to be a childish person. I had finally gotten the type of attention I longed from my mother in the eyes of the people.

And I do like Billy, as I like Sarah, and Brandon, and Snarf and never Face. Okay, I sometimes liked Face–in fact, I did like Face. In a friendly, never romantic, manner. That’s how it always was–and I wanted to pretend it different. I wanted to fit in.

But Shane. I should have known then.

Anyway.

I feel bad. I feel awful. I feel awful that I get hurt by Snarf, and that I’d admit it. And I’m ashamed to let the wound grow deeper and deeper, so much that I couldn’t pretend anymore, and I started moving away.

And I’m left wondering if I’m selfish for wanting my own happiness? And that while knowing she’s suicidal, I’m not going to do a thing about it, like I’ve never done for anyone else. Molly’s sister is that way too, and Molly didn’t tell.

Will says it’s like saying you don’t care if that person kills themselves, and that Molly should’ve told. And I think to myself, am I wrong for not telling an adult? And what are my reasons for not telling? Because I’m afraid? Do I just not want to get involved? Is it too much drama for me? Or because I just don’t think she would?

I also wonder why it’s always up to me, thus making me the bad guy? Constantly. I’m always the bad guy to someone in someway. Always. I don’t go to the mall, thus it’s my fault Snarf’s depressed. I can’t be the friend she needs, thus it’s my fault she wants out of life.

And this Lynn-Doug thing is ticking me off.

This all is more then I signed up for. I failed with Dan, I was there for him so much, and then I let him go, and then…

I’m so happy, and I suppose I’m angry that I finally have things going nice for me, and then… then things are terrible, like if I’m happy, people around me just can’t deal with that.

And thus, I find new friends who are happy. Like Wally. Wally can make me laugh, and I him, and we have things in common.

So does that make me awful? I try and run away from everything else and look for happier things? Does that mean I like to give up? No. It doesn’t.

I just can’t deal with being the problem. I don’t want to go to the mall, and I don’t want to have to be reminded about being the thing that upsets her, and I don’t want have to feel like shit everytime she says something because I’m just not good enough and I’m not a good friend.

I can stick to Molly thick and thin, and stay up all night with her, helping her with her problems. And fuck, I’m loyal. And yes, I’ll be there if needed, but this…

I’m sick of being hurt over and over and over again. Either my writing isn’t like hers, or I’m too happy, or it’s a compition, or she’s angry about an energy drink, or she’s angry but don’t worry she’s not anymore, or I’m stupid in my relationship or I’m somehow spiting her by doing shit she wanted to do with her boyfriend, or I’m just toooo shizophrenic and I need help. I just… I dunno. I’ve been hurting. I mean, fuck, at least Dennis could make me pee myself with laughter. It’s like every damn thing I do is wrong.

I’m sorry if it’s selfish that I just don’t wanna go to the mall, or that I don’t want to hear the newest thing that you’re angry about dealing with me–but I could die at any minute, and I have a lot of shit that I’ve been through.

And I think it really sucks, because you’re a really fucking great person, and not many people get close to me like you have. And I will defend you to people, and I will defend your relationship to anyone who questions it, and I’ll always speak highly of you. And I really hope you have a nice happy life and relationship, and I’m sure you’ll have lovely kids, and a nice house, and your life will go great.

I just don’t know if we’ll be friends for much longer.

FUCK FUCK FUCK

JUST FUCK.

And is this what my life has become? And I’m angry, and I’m so very angry. And I’m angry at everything and everyone and just FUCK YOU. Fuck all of you, except for Molly, of course, because she’s trying to stay happy in this sick fucking dark world.

Just fuck it.

IS THIS WHAT HAS BECOME OF ME? Have I resorted back to how I used to be, just running and crying and running again?

Blasting loud music so not to hear my own choking sobs, am I really that ashamed? And I have no idea what I’m crying about. There’s just that snap, and bam. The cellphone is thrown off the loft, smashing into the TV blow, and I just scream

and scream

and

scream

and cry.

Crying so hard I’d about to puke, but feeling no saddness. Just rage.

And I laugh even harder telling myself it’s all going to fucking hell.

Then to the mirror where I wipe away the tears and practice smiling. So that nobody knows what happened.

And I’m stuck. I can’t even try to tell Molly what’s going on in my head. I just can’t. And I stumble with Will, and I just say, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know why the phone was off. I couldn’t tell him I lost myself and threw it. I don’t know why, I said.

Because it’s the truth.

I don’t know why.

There is a land called Passive Agresseva, and you are their queen.

To say I lost faith in humanity would be a bit strong, but I’ve been left wondering if I ever cared enough, or if that was just another little play to pull, something to fit in with. Though I’d rather like to think everyone is good, still. They’re just not for me. Does that make me, in itself, less human?

I’ve come to find something to detest. Simply like my strong disapproval toward the idea of altering memories, I absolutely loathe the idea of anyone talking trash of someone’s relationship, or life for that matter. I simply won’t stand for it, and I refuse to listen to it, regardless how much I think you’re funny.

Everyone deserves their happiness, and their happy life, and beautiful love, despite who they are, or what they’ve done. This is something I will never change my thoughts on. And I will defend their relationships to other people–even if I’m bloody pissed at that said person. I’ve done it countless times before. And I’ll continue to do so.

So what the hell is wrong with people that they feel the need to wish bad on someone else? I could never. Is it because I don’t care enough about them? Or because what I say is how I really feel? Or, is it because I’m afraid of bad luck? Of having my own happiness taken from me because I thought badly of someone else’s?

Shit, I’m afraid to be angry at someone, because I believe that will give me terrible luck.

However, these times, they are a-changin’. That much is clear. Everything is shifting, and I say, maybe for the better.

For the first time in my short high school life, I’ve been tugged into pointless, shallow, petty, drama. I don’t care much for it. I don’t want to get involved with it, though apparently ignoring it can cause more damage. Huh, who’d figure?

These times, how they’re changin’.

Schizophrenia was so last year, it’s a fad that’s run out and can no longer be used. It’s over, it’s done, and now I’ll wait for them to tell me the latest thing that’s wrong with me. It’s always different, every year, and they’re always sure that this one is the one!

I figure it’s all in my head anyway, so what the hell do I have to care for it? I’ll always be the way I am, and I’ve been the same since I was younger. Just different things come to play, and maybe it’s a delight to twist and tug and watch happily as everything falls, line-by-line just the way I had wanted it to.

Because this is my story book.

Perhaps it’s all a ploy to get some type of attention. From who, I wouldn’t be sure, certainly my mother would be a good guess, but I’m losing hope in that.

I’ve also lost sight of my story book. Things are moving forward, and I wish I knew what to say to Molly. And I just wish I knew what to say.

I do apologize, even if I don’t know how to mean it honestly, I wish I could. Emotionally, Physically–I like running and hiding. Maybe I never really got over hide-and-go-seek, maybe I’m just crazy in that way. Maybe I want a certain kind of desperate attention–maybe it’s my demand for help.

But either way, I’m sure we all get them–the urge to get up and hide. To run away. To leave the store and hide, to open the door while the car is in motion, to sneak away and hide somewhere in the house until found… I guess I just like running away. Dunno why. Hope I’m not like my mom, that’d suck. And I couldn’t do that to him.

And then there’s the end, and I don’t know how to get it back. So for that, I’m sorry, but honestly, I think it was your own fault. And I’m sticking to that.

I’ve lost my need to cling as much–to Molly and William, that will never let up. But… Like I said, I lost most of my faith. The idea of it all is fading. And while I like some of it, I don’t like all of it.

I can count everyone who thinks we’re going to talk after high school, and every single one of them, I know that I won’t. Oh no, I won’t. There’s a small circle of people I’ll hold on to, but the rest. No, that’s a final goodbye. I might enjoy you a lot, and we might laugh and have endless fun, but it’s all going to change.

But I won’t forget you. No, no, you’ll be here, up in my head, and I’ll honor you and make you a character. I’ll immortalize you. Because you have shaped me, and I’m grateful.

What’s there though, it’s the future–and it’s getting clearer and clearer by the day. Never before has 160 dollars looked so small. Sitting outside of the bank, in the car, with twenties in hand–I realized…

I realized it’s gonna be hard. It’s not gonna be like how TV promised, it won’t be how school promises.

Gazing upward at him, the sun setting behind the blasted OnTheRun, as the flickering gas station light’s turn on, illuminating the dark shadows–it’s so very clear, with a single word,

‘We’ve got to make it last’.

Rent. Gas. Life.

We’re going to struggle for a bit. But we’ll both smile, and you’ll always get me that pepsi, and we’ll clasp our hands and laugh.

‘Cause the times… They are a-changin’.

It was such a beautiful day as she read about Superman beating up those communists.

It was a total ‘there-and-back-again’ moment for me, and briefly I considered myself Bilbo just for the sake of the flip-flop back-and-forth, though I would never think of it as an epic tail. Oh, no, no. Yet, with Melissa, anything could be epic couldn’t it?

Saturday evening, maybe around 8-ish, Melissa decides to bring up the fact that she has a party to go to at 9, at the Middletown Lanes. Bowling, who’d figure? Well, Will agrees to drive her, and we start our journey of driving around Middletown in search of a card.

At the gas station, searching the OntheRun, she turns to me and utters one word that changes my view on her. Forever.

“Dumbledore.”

I turn, shocked, to look at her, and she smiles cheerfully. Almost knowingly. And then it hits me. She isn’t a nutcase. She’s just a dramatic 13 year old–waaay dramatic and bratty–but searching to be accepted. Almost like Frankstien’s monster. One word, and she’s gotten closer. I kind of like her now.

“He raped the Pokemon.”

And I burst into laughter. She’s been listening to our conversations, I realized. Clever, clever, girl. Will shoots us a playful glare.

“What are you laughing about? What did she tell you?”

“Just about Dumbledore getting raped.”

Will looks at her, then sets his gaze onto me. “What have you been teaching her?” He accuses with his tilted grin. “She’s 13, for god’s sake!” I open my mouth as she giggles and he slams the pump back into it’s place. “Back in the car!”

To Rite-Aid, then, we went. And to my delight, Bram was working! He was a tall, silent, guy, colorless, in a way. He was always so indifferent! I considered him mine, if only for the fact that he was always there on our candy runs. He was so blank of any emotion–he might as well have been god! In any case, he was my Bram Storkeafasfa, and I only liked him for the idea of him, and the fact that he’d never remember who I was. Now that’s a friend! A secret friend.

Yada yada yada, we got her the card, she signed it, we dropped her off–and here comes Sunday. I liked Sunday.

Except for the here and back again part. Nah uh. Driving back and forth like that… I wouldn’t have minded much, if it weren’t to Bear Mountain, toward where my door-cousin presided in. Faggots.

Liz’s friends (rich, mind you) were going out, and their 15 year old son, Doug, didn’t much want to be left alone home. So, that’s where we were going. To get him.

And what comes on the radio on our way there? Baby got Back. Yeah. So Liz blasts it, dancing in her seat, as Will gets dramatic in the backseat next to Melissa who is giggling–and for the first time in a very long time…

I feel like I’m apart of a family. A real family.

WE’RE NOT TALKING ABOUT DOUG’S BIG BEN-LIKE HOUSE. Fucking door.

So we get the kid, right? I’m glad he and Melissa instantly click. He’s tall, like Will, wearing his “goth” hoody that William has–and he’s a pretty fly guy with a neat sense of humor. That is, until he said I had the laugh of a Blood Elf. Then he was just a whore. But in the mean-time, he clicked instantly with our ways.

Pretty neat.

Liz then took us to see Know1ng.

All I could say to the ending was “Twice”, ’cause that already happened with the ending of Silent Hill. Hilarious. If it wasn’t for the gushing pain, I might have liked the movie better, but, alas, I’m broken, truly. After all, there’s always something tragically wrong with me, no?

Then to Outback Steakhouse we went. And goddamn do I love Clam Chowder, or what? It went swimmingly, again, except for the hideous pain–but we all know that I looove when I’m in pain, eh?

So besides getting skiddish and throwing the straws on the ground so Doug couldn’t fling water at me, everything was pretty great.

Though, something still unnerves me. The way people seem to always want to hug me when I cry. I mean, sheese, Ms. Carter can be meggy scary, but I didn’t have to be a baby, right?

Oh well. We had a heart-to-heart.

I H8 U!!1!!!q1 LOL I FKIN H8 U RIN

They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!

If it wasn’t for Wally, and then later Sango, I wouldn’t have made it on Monday. I hate it when they leave me, and yet, I always want them to. Laura’s okay, so it’s no big deal. But still. And hell did Wally make me laugh hard.

My darling promised to stay till I fell asleep. It’s amazing how much my opinion of sex and love has changed. I love being so pure and new for him, untouched, and his only. What had I been thinking all those years? Violent sex with strangers? No, no… It’s better when there’s a special love shared. Every gentle touch, every soft sigh–I love knowing that he loves being the only one to be able to ever get a reaction from me, that only his fingertips have slid over my skin.

I’m his little gift. And I was waiting all my life for him. I never had the desire for a boyfriend before, never had a desire to be loved in that matter, or held. Only because I was meant for my William.

Molly says that she feels so free, so light–like she’s floating in the sky. Well, I’ve been floating for as long as I can remember. The entire world has suddenly come together under my feet, and I finally feel… apart of this world. This reality.

For hours–all night, really–we spent together lying in my bed, just talking, laughing. Clothing means nothing, and it was a delight to be so free. We haven’t had time to just lay around naked, so it was such a relief.

I love him, more then everything the world has to offer. I kills me that he actually stayed. He stayed, oh god he stayed with me. And I pretended to fall asleep, assuming I’d be okay.

But minutes passed, and he was no longer besides me. 4 in the morning, I should have been long asleep, but he had been there, just moments before. And I burst into a hysteria, calling him.

And he came for me. He came. And he saved me. Oh god, he saved me, he took me in his arms, and brought me to his car and he took me home with him.

His room is my safe haven. My place of peace and happiness. Curled up in his bed, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes, his lazy sweet grin easing me into sleep. For all of Tuesday I stayed with him–my savior. My love. My hero.

For all the sad nights of hoping and begging the unknown, finally I’ve been sent someone to save me. From everything–even myself. It’s impossible to linger in sad thoughts when he’s there, when he’s keeping me happy so easily.

I can’t help it when he kisses my fingers softly and speaks of marriage. I can’t help it when he tugs me close to him, kissing my head, and keeping me safe from the things of the dark.

Life is wonderful. Am I allowed such things?

Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change.

What then, when sorry isn’t enough? I’ve got skeltons in my closet, and I’ve only told one person–my god it’s so unlikely, and that person wasn’t Molly, and that person wasn’t William, or Snarf, or Kaggy or Venny.

A spilled my guts a long time ago. To a boy I did not love, but tried too.

D:

The things that haunt me. The places I run to in search of hiding. And because of my inability to understand, to remain, I pretend, and because of my pretending, I believe, and because I believe, life is formed, and life lives, and loves.

And those loves are lies.

And I run once again, because reality came.

I hide.

And they cry.

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry.

‘What’s normalcy?’ they ask.

You.

Sarah, you’re fucking crazy.
You’re fucked up.
You’re weird.
You’re weird and crazy–but it’s in a fun way!
All of you.
Every single one.
People I do not know tell me.
Everyone says it.

It hurt back then, and you better believe it still hurts. Am I so different? You and I, we are so alike… then why am I so odd to you? We’re friends, all of us, for a reason, right? We’re alike.

I hear it.
Every single day. From more then one person. Repeating and repeating and repeating. Even teachers…
‘…Well, you’re different Sarah.’
It’s acknowledged.
Fuck you, Carter. You don’t know me like that.

So what am I suppose to do? Not speak? Do people think I’m just pretending? Or is it awful, because they know I’m not?

Yes, this is my fucking pity-party. But it won’t last long. ‘Cause half way through, I’ll think of you.
My friends.
And the pain you go through too.

But…can anyone really relate to me? Can you, honestly? And I’m not talking to people who actually have issues, I’m talking to you, the people who parade around, thinking I like you. Thinking we’re friends. I appreciate you, but can you really understand?

Do  you think about killing yourself? Daily? While being HAPPY? Laughing, enjoying yourself? Think of your happiest moments–and then think about your mind urging you, urging you, to end it all. Think of that person you care about, holding you close, kissing you…
And then think about having an urge to go and over-dose.

–Yes, I know you people, who tell me how you hate your life, and how it sucks. And I try and attempt to cheer you up, and tell you how great life is. But fuck you. And little miss ‘I’m Suicidal and I have therapists and I’m MISERABLE’, fuck you and your 100 reasons why you ’should live’ list. I don’t go around bitching about how my CRAZY–yeah CRAZY–head and genetics project thoughts into my mind. No. I’m your friend of all smiles and happiness, that couldn’t possibly understand. And I won’t give you the pleasure, or challenge, of knowing.

Do you have an illogical urge to run away? While in a car, just open the door, and attempt to get out while it’s in motion?
Or while you’re at the mall, or somewhere out, with friends, or that special person, do you just… slip away from everyone? Because of that horrible, horrible urge? And when people get close to you, emotionally, do you suddenly just block them out?

–I hear you people. Talking of how you ‘just left because my mom’s a frickin’ bitch’ or ‘if they keep this shit up I’m moving in with…’ bullcrap. You’re angry because your parents won’t do what you want. Fuck you. You tell me how you’re gonna run off with so-and-so or run away and never come back because you’re parents are assholes. I know people who have it worse. I know people whose parents are neglectful. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You people are rich spoiled idiots. And yeah, I know, I shouldn’t try and compare us, but do you really have any idea of what kind of struggle it is? To not bolt whenever the impulse arises?

So maybe, I can’t relate to your stuff. And maybe I’m being cruel about this all. But do believe me when I say I want to hear your problems, and believe me when I say I want to help… Because I do. Even if I’m bitter about it right now, I still do.
And that applies twice as much for the people I actually love.
So stop with your ‘well, I didn’t want to trouble you’ stuff. Because it isn’t. If you’re hurting, then it’s a big deal, don’t disregard it ’cause I’m a nutter.

Because when it all comes down to it… You guys have it worse. This is my normalcy. I deal with this shit, every glorious day. I can cope, and I’m damn good at it. I know how to be happy.  Maybe because that’s the only thing I really want, and know how to do: is be happy.

If I’m upset, I think people would know.

My reality consists of nothing more but of everything and anything. And while I’m not bound to anything, I do have things and people I like.

Someone once asked me, ‘You hate everything that has to do with reality, don’t you?’ I was surprised. But it was true.
I hate reality. I hate that I’m not good enough for a mom to stick around. I hate that I let Dan die. I hate that I can’t say anything.
Will said to me, ‘Yes, but you hate people.’
I scoffed. ‘Hate? No. Hate is too strong of a word, and I don’t care enough for them to feel anything towards them.’

And in reality, while I deal with all that shit…
Yeah. You guys all have it fucking worse. Because, I guess, like Will once said, everyone deals with shit differently.

And my mom already ruined more then half of me, so that’s out. And no, I’m never going to let that go. It’s my sourse of pain, and I feel more real with it.

You guys… you love me for the way I am. So no, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to be ‘normal’ in the way preppy snotty girls are.
I want to be normal in the way you guys can relate.
I feel so very alone. And when the tough gets going, I flee to a world that you say doesn’t exist, and talk to people that everyone refuses to believe is there.

So in reality… You guys are much stronger then I am. You stick it out. Go through the emotions. Act out.
And I… I shut down for a few minutes, act like nothing terrible came my way, and become happy. I leave to another world.
Or I snap and become overly vicious.

And I’m so afraid.

I’m so afraid of becoming my mother. I don’t want to be trapped inside my own head. I have been, before. For brief, terrible, moments. On my off days when I forget how to show emotions, when I become blank… When I try and talk, but all that happens is the silence… when I’m left screaming inside my own mind.

I’m afraid of running.

She did it. She and Laura were together in their twenties. Then, one day, my mom just left for half a year.
And Laura freaked out.

I don’t want that.

I feel like… I’ve been through so much. But lord I’m only 18, so what can I possibly know? I still pity myself at times, too. No, no… I know nothing of pain.

But maybe…

Can I have my happily ever after?

Can I have my William? Can I have a job, and a family? Can I live close to Molly? That’s what I want.
That’s all I’m asking for.

I want a nice sweet home nearby, maybe in the country…
I want to wake up to William every day. I want three bratty but beautiful children.
I want to have a real family, to have a place to go to on the holidays, to talk and giggle and tell stories…
I want Molly to live maybe a half hour, or less, away. I want to have Sunday mornings with her, as a ‘just us’ morning.
I want to be sipping tea or some shit in a dinning room table or kitchen, or something, laughing and telling stories with her.
I want to get an occasional visit from Snarf and Faj, and hear of their extreme happiness and good wealth, to hear Snarf tell me of her amazing adventures, or the latest place she visited, or some weird story that’s completely ‘hush hush’.
I want Kaggy to pop in randomly from Alaska, or some place around the world, bearing gifts and epic tales.
I want Vincent and Venny to visit, to laugh with.
Can’t the people I’ve learned to love have a happy ever after too? ’cause that’s what I want. And I’m wondering, is that so much to ask? Why must it be hard? Can’t I just… have it? Am I allowed?

Please?

We’re friends, and we do relate, because in our own way…
D: We’ve all been through shit. We’ve all got our pain, and our painful pasts, and things that… haunt us.

And that’s why we’re close the way we are. And so, I think, if I’m alone, then they must be alone too. And maybe, because we’re all alone, we’re together in that sense. And they like me, and how I speak…
And I like them, and how they speak.
And here is the start of the happily ever after.

So while I might through pity parties about myself…

I never forget that those closest to me, can, and do, understand.

We’re all normal, here.

Gorillas with decoder rings.

HYPOCRISY.

Maybe I lost it. That’s a very, very, possible thing. I’m also wondering why I haven’t gotten in any trouble. Maybe when people lose it, the normal rules stop applying. Maybe I just have issues. Maybe I just don’t like being pushed into it. Or maybe I’ve just snapped. Years and years of unresolved resentment and anger all exploding at once.

Too bad we were in a car at the time. Maybe they’ll understand now. Maybe they’ll get that I’m.not.kidding.

To me, I feel though as the only thing that matters, is how they feel and how they look. Laura isn’t working, mom is using her “illness” as an excuse, in my view, not to. ‘Sarah get a job, pay for the bills’.
Hey, we cut your birth control uses, but we’re gonna go to Florida.
School always comes first. My ability to drive comes before how I feel.
‘Sarah, move PAST your comfort level.’
‘Er, yeah, but I’m not feeling very comfortable about driving somewhere else, let alone the city. I don’t turn well, I go into the other lane, and I’m still not comfortable with people driving close behind me.’
So Laura talked bad about me to my mom loudly and they gave me the ‘disappointing’ look. Fuck them, this is about me, and they should pressure me into driving.

So I snapped. Mom got in the car and I’m backing out of the driveway, but she keeps telling me how to and how the ‘correct’ way is.
So I basically told her to stfu, but in a worse way, and proceeded to speed down the road, and past the stop sign.
‘Sarah, you just went through a stop sign–’
‘No I fuckin’ didn’t.’
‘…Yeah, you did…’
‘Fuck you, I’m doing it how I want.’
‘Maybe I should drive…’
‘Nope.’

Yes, I tried, multiple times, to kill us.

I’m just… consumed with this rage. This anger. I’m so… angry. And I don’t know what to do about it.

I guess it doesn’t really matter. Nobody seems alarmed that I tried to kill us. Maybe it never happened. Maybe it just doesn’t mean anything.

And then…

There’s that new desire. It’s been huanting me for a while. Oh god.