January 24, 2011
April 27, 1999

I hate the screaming. I hate the fighting. I hate my life. Always me. I always get hollered at because APPERENTLY it’s always about ME. They scream and fight and don’t give a crap about me!!!! Why do I even bother staying here anymore. Maybe this journal s*** will let my feelings out. Oh yeah, I bet. I’m just going crazy.

First on the list: get ready for school. Another day of hell…

“SADIE! Get your arss down herr’. Get me beeeeer,” my already half drunk mother slurred.

“Even though it’s only 6 in the morning.” I muttered.

Walking over all the dirty laundry, opened drinks, and wasted food; I fished out the last beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and put it on my mother’s nightstand. I rushed out of the room as quickly as possible.

Next of the list: Bus Stop.

Within a few minutes, I was out the door and walked to the corner. Dirty comments came from all sides of me with snide commentary of how plain I looked, how I didn’t have new clothes, and how no one gave a rats a** about me.

Then why the hell talk about me? Ignorant Idiots. Good for them, I didn’t need platinum blond hair, I liked having PLAIN OLE BROWN HAIR. I didn’t CARE for fitting in with snippy little princesses.

“HEY, YOU!” An arrogant jock exclaimed. So, I turned away because they would obviously not use that tone with anyone else around here. “Why do you wear battered old clothes everyday, huh?” He mockingly continued, “Can’t mommy and daddy payyyyyyy for new ones! Ahhhh, that’s right. Poor baby’s daddy passed away.” He kept saying every other word with more emphasis and my anger was reaching its boiling point. “Now your life isn’t worth anything. Too bad. I heard you used to be h-h-h-awt.” And that is when I needed to punch something… or someone. “Heard you were nice in-“

He never finished that sentence. I knew where the situation had gone so I decided to shut the a** up. I kicked him, hard, in the groin.

“Try saying s*** now, you arrogant a**. Too bad YOU have to DRUG every girl here to sleep with you as it is.” I decided I’d walk to school, who cared about being late anymore? All anyone does around here is pay off who they need to anyway.

April 29, 1999

Well I guess this journal stuff may help. I can tell someone at least. I wasn’t always like this. Oh god, this is SO WEIRD. I’m a freak now. Whatever, you don’t care. At this point, I don’t even know why im still writing. No one cares. You cant be my friend. You cant help. Wanna get me new clothes? Oh, wait, youre a book. Books cant do anything. They don’t have dreams. I have dreams. They don’t have hope. I don’t have hope, either I guess. But that s*** doesn’t matter. Youre pages. Pages of blank nothingness- like my life. A piece of nothing. Nothing in the world. Your like me. But like I said, this is nothing. Life is nothing. Not without happiness. No one has that s*** anymore. No one has anything. Everyone loses something in the end. I lost everything. I had everything. But you cant do anything about it because youre a stupid a** book. A stupid a** book my wonderful great amazing father got me before he f***ing left me. Yeah, and everyone else did too. Youre nothing and this is nothing.

I slapped the journal shut. I wrote in it like I could talk to the pages. But that wasn’t possible-

“Then F***ING leave. You’re a deadbeat! We supported everything you did!” A crash sounded- another lamp dead. “You quite because you are a damn good for nothing scum!” My mother lashed out at Paul, my 19-year-old brother. He had just dropped out of his architecture program after my dad left. The whole family was as good as nothing anymore.

“Oh that’s rich coming from YOU, ‘Oh Saintly Mother.’” Paul egged on the screaming banters, like always. It was like it gave him an accomplishment in his forgotten, ‘dead beat’ life. “ ‘I need a sabbatical’- ‘I need a break’- ‘I’ll move on, I’ll be here for you and your sister’ Always. But no. You are the F***ING DEADBEAT, YOU…”

I heard enough of the screaming. I wasn’t dealing anymore. I grabbed my iPod, cranked up the volume, and climbed out my first floor bedroom window. Even through the head pounding rock, I heard the sad, pathetic lives dead behind me.

April 29, 1999

Oh, the memories

I stopped writing because of the tentative voice that came up behind me, “Hey, Sadie.”

My legs had walked my body to the park three blocks from my hell. My mind was stuck back in the pit and I wanted to write my only ally- my journal.

“S-Sadie.” The voice was light and frightened. I knew it wasn’t a harm like those a**holes from the place I’m forced to be at for a corrupted view of ‘education.’” So, I turned and faced Melinda. She was just a tiny, red head friend from my past. Me being the p**** I had been, never treated her like a real friend because I was too scared to ruin my ‘oh so fabulous reputation’- a reputation I will always regret- to bother with her when others were around.

Sickened by my pointless self-pity, I decided I’d just get her off my case, like I used to in school. I had to do, what I had to do.

“Yeah…” I said in my snarky tone I’d give those ogres at school. But it wasn’t my voice…

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