I hate people. I hate my family. They have done me no wrong directly, I hate them for their drug addictions and being alcoholics. My first memories as a child were of my mother and father fighting in the kitchen one night of drinking. The memories after are mixed between both parents having a good time to fighting. I hate my friends because they are no different, they drink to have fun, the smoke pot to pass by mild boredom.Now lets go back to the beginning, one day my mother kicked out my dad for cheating on her after a night of drinking, I was 5 at the time so I hardly remember. Then years of bulling later, I tried to get friendly with people it went well for a few months, but then at the age of 10 I was put in a psych ward, the reason was I walked out of a therapy session because I had to do something that had my attention that whole day. I was in there for a whole month. While in there I forgot what fresh air was, my mother did not come to see how I was doing. I was put in with people who wanted to die because someone they loved had a bad day. The day I got out the day was quiet, I did not kiss the ground as some would. No, I wanted to be inside, but I was not sure. The rest of the day was alright at the most. I went to my friends house and told them what happened, all they did was blink and start talking about some stupid ass tv show. It was around Easter time, my dad would send presents, it would make me happy to know he did not forget about me and my older brother. But this year was going to be different. One morning I was awoken at 5am by my mother, who was crying, as my older brother walks in also crying. She tells me my father… was killed. He was murdered. days after that, I didn’t go to his funeral, and I found out that the person that did it is still walking free. Apparently my father was at a party when some bastard wanted to fight, and my dad happened to be the poor bastard. People said the guy was swinging a empty beer bottle and hit my father in the head, which broke over his head, knocking him unconscious, he then proceeded to grad another bottle and beat him till someone stopped him. They took him to the hospital, but simply because he was drunk, they said he would be alright. My mother was never the same. My brother turned to drugs and alcohol, that dumb ass. It has been 4 years since that shit happened. My brother and mother would argue ever night because he would come back at 1am, from wakening up so many time I have formed bags under my eyes that can never go away. Even though it took a few years I became a shut in from what happened. I hate people for the shit I went through in life I just… I am sick of people always giving me the shit end of the deal, always getting forgotten about. I am alone, I feel alone. After talking to what I have decided is another person in my head, I truly am alone. I talk to the other person all the time because he listens and understands most of the time. While talking to him another time he asked me a question, why don’t I just kill myself. I answered while crying for what fell like the first time in my life, “I am to sad to die, but to lazy to live.”

Credit To: Near

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