It is the little things that cna make existance miserable

the way i can be treated withi such disregard, as though i mean nothing, or even less thant hat. brushed aside, cast off, insulted at every turn when i try so hard to be good. I keep trying to please, to be good to fulfill the unbeleivable expectations but every little thing grate away at me, every inch i move forward 5 more icnhes of skin are shed away from me. i try to be stronger because they want strength, but i am only insulted.

I do soemthing to seek praise and instead of that, or even negligence i am insulted, and what i tried so hard to d ois deemed filth and idiocy. My timing is wrong and my efforts are poor. nothin gi do matters or is good . .

occassionaly i make jokes abou tkillng my father to ease the pain, to pretned that i did it, tat ihired an assasin or suffocated him in his sleep, s fo ra moment i can think that when i go back home he will be gone and it will be good

and then when he returns from teh dead i am crushed to find my dream life shattered

53 days till freedom