You know what? I'm pissed and I'm scared and I'm worried and I feel like throwing up and I am fucking angry. And I'm tired of pretending that I'm not. I hate that I put on this facade of happiness and energy and excitement and I hate how whenever I try to make a place where I can stop putting on that mask, I just end up doing it there. It's just so easy to lie. Things like sadness and anger and hate and depression are hard and complicated, and pretending to be happy is simple, because nobody ever says "you are smiling and talking and you look like you are enjoying life, what's up with that?" If you look like you might be the slightest bit under the weather, you get a barrage of questions and people telling you that they care, that you would be missed, that try to convince you to be happy and are then angry when you can't manage to do that. So you pretend to be happy, and it's tiring, but you're always tired anyway and people leave you alone. Lying is simple and easy and I do it to you and I do it to my friends and I do it to my teachers and I do it to my therapist and I do it to my parents and I do it to strangers who ask me about my day. But right now, my mother is drunk and has been having crying fits every day for the past week and she scares me and my father is ridiculing everything I do that he doesn't like in the hopes that I will feel bad enough about myself that I won't do it anymore and I am angry and I am going to say it:

I DON'T LIKE LIFE.

And don't you dare try to comfort me. And I have thought a thousand times about killing myself and yes, I know I would be missed and I know that I am loved, but I wish I wasn't so that wouldn't be hanging over my head every single time I look at a knife or a gun or a bottle of pills or when the thought even crosses my mind because I have a Reason to Live.

And I fucking hate it.