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I need Bakami to be fixed.
There are two things that sustaine my mental well being on my computer and one of those is my MP3s and the other is the Inet.
If they don't work together it's like a constant twitch...
I need music to think. If there's none externaly, the internal jutebox starts up.
And if I get any more Buffy music in there I WILL start twitching....
Maybe I should start just listening... The characters in my head become more ative on that playground.
I need a flat chest. I need not to have painful breasts. I need NOT to be a goddamned double D.
I need to get out....
I need to get out.
I need change...
Why can't I have a body that isn't so fucked up?
Mom's all 'Lose weight!'
Right. One the campus food plan and with a brusted thryroid gland.
That's really gonna work.
And then what? I'll look like you?
Skinny bony pot-bellied, bean-eating, food-obessing...
Can't I just devorce her? Purge her genetics from my body and be heathier?
I blame you, mother...
The thryroid problem. The weight problem. The family trend to be small and stocky. The family treand for diabeties.
It;s the fault of your genetics that my body is so fucked up.
It's the fault of your genetics that I have to take pills for the rest of my life.
And how dare you go on how you have it worse with alll your pills! I'm ~21~ GODDAMN IT! I'm supose to be heathly! I'm not supose to have these problems and have to worry about everything! I shouldn't have had to be tortured by being alergic to so many foods when I wasn't even out of elementary school. I shouldn't have to been on medication since before I got to college.
I hate you. I hate everything you've done to me, to Richie...
And what you continue to do to dad.
Bitch.
Manipulative, hypactitical, self-serving bitch.
I hold so much contempt for you...
Get it into your hollow head that I am not you... I will never BE you, and I would rather DIE then become what you are now.
Do you think you're happy? Living in your world of work work work and romance novels?
Dad has more friends then you. Dad hangs out with his friends more then you.
Money's tight, but you have to have your treadmil, because god forbid you go out and walk in the cold in winter. No, instead you subject the house to the noise and jaring of that contraption as you run...
Do you think you look good now? Your skin hangs on your bones. I can feel your shoulder blades when I hug you. But your belly's the same size as it was.
You look like you're dying.
Have you even told Richie you're diabetic yet?
Blind you are, mother... prazing the school system you placed us in. As I sit in classes and realize I have no idea what is being talked about because it was never covered in high school. Books I never read, consepts that were ever taught. Words I don't know.
I feel so stupid at times. I have people thinking English is my second language because I'm so bad at it. I don't know words that Judy uses. I have to look things up all the time when I read things she writes because I don't know the words. I feel stupid, mother. And you don't help that any.
You never did.
There are two things that sustaine my mental well being on my computer and one of those is my MP3s and the other is the Inet.
If they don't work together it's like a constant twitch...
I need music to think. If there's none externaly, the internal jutebox starts up.
And if I get any more Buffy music in there I WILL start twitching....
Maybe I should start just listening... The characters in my head become more ative on that playground.
I need a flat chest. I need not to have painful breasts. I need NOT to be a goddamned double D.
I need to get out....
I need to get out.
I need change...
Why can't I have a body that isn't so fucked up?
Mom's all 'Lose weight!'
Right. One the campus food plan and with a brusted thryroid gland.
That's really gonna work.
And then what? I'll look like you?
Skinny bony pot-bellied, bean-eating, food-obessing...
Can't I just devorce her? Purge her genetics from my body and be heathier?
I blame you, mother...
The thryroid problem. The weight problem. The family trend to be small and stocky. The family treand for diabeties.
It;s the fault of your genetics that my body is so fucked up.
It's the fault of your genetics that I have to take pills for the rest of my life.
And how dare you go on how you have it worse with alll your pills! I'm ~21~ GODDAMN IT! I'm supose to be heathly! I'm not supose to have these problems and have to worry about everything! I shouldn't have had to be tortured by being alergic to so many foods when I wasn't even out of elementary school. I shouldn't have to been on medication since before I got to college.
I hate you. I hate everything you've done to me, to Richie...
And what you continue to do to dad.
Bitch.
Manipulative, hypactitical, self-serving bitch.
I hold so much contempt for you...
Get it into your hollow head that I am not you... I will never BE you, and I would rather DIE then become what you are now.
Do you think you're happy? Living in your world of work work work and romance novels?
Dad has more friends then you. Dad hangs out with his friends more then you.
Money's tight, but you have to have your treadmil, because god forbid you go out and walk in the cold in winter. No, instead you subject the house to the noise and jaring of that contraption as you run...
Do you think you look good now? Your skin hangs on your bones. I can feel your shoulder blades when I hug you. But your belly's the same size as it was.
You look like you're dying.
Have you even told Richie you're diabetic yet?
Blind you are, mother... prazing the school system you placed us in. As I sit in classes and realize I have no idea what is being talked about because it was never covered in high school. Books I never read, consepts that were ever taught. Words I don't know.
I feel so stupid at times. I have people thinking English is my second language because I'm so bad at it. I don't know words that Judy uses. I have to look things up all the time when I read things she writes because I don't know the words. I feel stupid, mother. And you don't help that any.
You never did.