| Current mood: |  depressed |
| Current music: | There's no "I" in team - TBS |
Kill me.
Mom. That would happen to be my anti-drug. But not for the usual reasons, like wanting to make your mother proud or something. She's my anti-drug just because I never want to turn out like her. I know that she has a drinking problem, and there is nothing I can do about it, so I have yet to know why I even bother bringing it up to people. I hate when people ask questions, because they're always the same questions: "Why won't you talk to her about it," "Do you talk to your dad about it?" and all of that bull. It's a lot easier said and done, especially with my family. My dad absolutely despises my mom, so it's not like he would ever do anything to actually help her. I know that if I talked to my mom about it, she would get mad and deny it. It all just gives me that feeling that my life is just totally out of control and there is nothing I can do about it, but just sit and watch. Then people suggest to dump the bottles out, but it's sort of hard because about half an hour after she buys the alcohol, she devours it. Then they tell me that I shouldn't let her drive, but this really evil part of me wants her to drive, and this little evil part of me sort of hopes that maybe she'll hit a telephone poll and die. She would deserve it for the hell that she has already put me through in my young life. It's just all the stuff she does, she doesn't notice that it has an effect on me at all. Neither of my parents care enough to notice. The smoking, the drinking, the other thing that I can hardly bring myself to recognize. I can't take it at all. You would think anyone who actually cared about their kids would not do those sorts of things, just because they had their kids in their mind. She's so selfish. She doesn't care about what she does to herself, and she doesn't care that what she does to herself is enough to make me want to do something crazy like kill myself. I'd never have the guts to, though. But what she does to herself has such an impact on me that it makes me wish I were dead. I just wish I could talk to a shrink or someone like that about it, but I know that if the problem is very serious (which some of them happen to be) they have to intervene, and that would just screw my life up even more. I know it might not seem that might life is screwed on the outside, but on the inside I'm just being torn apart. I hate living like this, and I hate living with her. I really like her when she's sober and not hurting herself, but when she's like this I hate her. I hate her so much, and I wish she would just get into a car and drive drunk and die. I hate talking to people about this, because it just makes my family look worse than it already does. I know that hardly anyone reads this, so it's almost therapeutic to write in here. I hardly even use this journal as a log of what I do each and every day, and who I hang out with like any normal kid would, it's more dedicated to my feelings, which I think makes it more the better to read. I'm just in such a bad mood tonight because of her, but what else is new.
I conclude.
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