This is Her Life

It’s a constant ringing in my head that rings 24/7. Screaming and yelling and screaming and yelling. Everything seems so empty in my life. Where am I really. I know who my parents are and what they look like, but who are they really? I lay in my bed staring at the white empty ceiling hoping that my parents will come home again from the drinking. I know it’s not going to be pretty and they will go insane from how drunk they are but, I just want them. I wish I didn’t have to live with tremendous amounts of weight on me caused by them. The apartment, constantly a mess,broken down and rusty, the carpets all stained and worn out to the point where there are holes in it distinctly showing where I specifically walked the most, since I practically live alone. All kinds of garbage everywhere and not even mentioning the foot high stack of newspapers that has been collected or the past month from the paperboy. I start trying to clean up the mess to make myself a tiny pathway so I can walk to the bathroom without falling over junk. I started finding things like pens, and empty and plenty more random and senseless stuff. I take the pen and scribble on one side of the newspapers that were laying next to me. It worked! What a surprise! Clean lines of solid blue ink. There was nothing imperfect about the lines, just purely perfect. I draw more lines many of them turning into letters then words and until I knew it I filled up that whole giant blank side of the newspaper with words that were furiously running in my head. I didn’t feel any better. What I created for myself was a memorial of my feelings so I can walk by it everyday and see those words. There isn’t anyone on my floor that I can talk to, besides a girl that lives on the same floor on the other side of the building, maybe she could understand. Would she not understand what I’m going through and give me a disgusted look everytime she see’s me. No way I can’t so this I can’t be putting myself into this kind of misery, that would be total social suicide. What do I have to lose? I have already hit rock bottom. As I stand in front of her apartment door with the apartment number reading “239”. I make the first light knock and run right away back to my apartment. There is absolutely no way that I can do this. My phone notified me that I am running low on battery so I go to charge it. That won’t be hard for me to think of someone since I don’t know anyone and noone knows me. I dial the number to my  best friend from third grade. “Hey, ummm do you have a few minutes?” “Yeah of course! What’s going on?” She replied. We talked for almost two hours. I couldn’t believe it. To me it felt like only we have talked for only five minutes. I felt as light as a feather. I had no worries anymore, I felt so free. I don’t care about the past anymore, it’s old history now.Now I really don’t care when my parents come home, or even if they ever do come home. What difference will it make if they do come back. They are always so filled with alcohol there is no way I can do anything about their addiction to help. I’ve made it this far in life by myself what difference. The pen drew blue to open waters of the sea for me for open mindedness.