the more you change the less you feel

i feel better this week so far. even though i know i did shitty on the test, i don’t care much. i will do better on the unit 3 exam. next week is the last week of class. yaaaaay. i will kind of miss the teacher though. she has a lot of awesome things to say. i don’t work at all the rest of the week as far as i know, which is weird. though they may call me in early mornings to train in the cash office. next week i work three days. haha i barely do anything man. its hilarious how tired i am though all the time. it’s unreal. i still think my brothers hate me, but what can i o about it? nothing. i don’t think thomas does, but tyler and adam just think i’m stupid. which i am. but does that mean i don’t deserve respect? and it’s not like tyler and adam are fucking geniuses either. though my mom acts like adam is. not surprising, every parent has a favorite. when i started college, at the open house thing in boone, i had kind of a panic attack and my mom’s true colors shone through. she hissed at me in front of everyone, how i was a screw-up, and she knew i would mess this all up just like everything else. i don’t think she ever apologized. or if she did i still haven’t forgiven her. because i believe her. she is only one of the few people who i really think care about me, so to hear her say those things just shattered any confidence and self esteem i had. i waited in the car for her, trying to cut my wrists with a pocket knife i had. haha so stupid. it’s really hard to cut that deep on wrists, especially with a shitty, cheap pocket knife. i barely even have any scars on my wrists, really hard to see thankfully. and i don’t really want to kill my self most of the time. or if i do, it’s only partly so. i have too many reasons not to. but i was still cutting myself back around that time, so when we got home i cut up my upper legs pretty bad. i never cut often, but when i did, i did a lot of deep cuts. i will never be able to wear shorts again because of it, so effing stupid of me. i seriously thought it was a viable coping method. i cut too deep though, and left scars that don’t cover even with makeup. they’re hypotrophic, so they’re like little dents in my skin. it made it feel better though, like if i could see the blood, my mind was soothed. like there, that’s why you hurt so much. a concrete, real reason. a sign of healing i could actually see, and say hey, it’s going to get better eventually. doesn’t make sense to anyone sane though. i still love my mom, whatever she says. she’s usually there for me. she just wasn’t that one time, and it really hurt me. sucks for her, because she can never say anything that will make me believe she doesn’t just think bad things of me deep down. whenever she says she’s proud of me, i want to scoff. it all just sucks. my mind and memory hates me.

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