I don't even know what to call it anymore...

Frustration?

Anger?

Despair?

Sorrow?



I thought, foolishly, I could get out of the house this weekend.

Go to Kenan's on Friday, then spend the night with Modo on Saturday...

In my excitement, I forgot about my parents hating me.



I didn't even have to ask them, to set them off.



Mum keeps asking why all of us like to stay alone in our rooms with the doors closed.

Why they've never had us around as their children.

...Well, when have they welcomed us? When have they been around us?



I want to move my cupoard...

...and I can't.

I just want to cry, but it's not going to move it.

...but there's no way I'm asking them for help.



I just want to cry.