“I can’t wait until you guys are gone/out of here… *snap snarl growl*”

So, I’m sitting at the dinner table today, eating dinner with David and Ricky, and I’m bouncing my leg like I usually do. This really irritates David, but I don’t especially care because I’m just a bitch.

So, eventually, David says this;

“I don’t know if I should be sad or glad when you guys move.”

I am so mad right now, I could blow a fucking gasket. At the same time, I’m really upset. I mean, seriously, David? Since when are you as much of an asshole as Dad?

Fuck it. I won’t have to live with them anyway, and I am in no place to say anything anyway, because David’s not my son, and this isn’t my house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed to all hell at Dad for making this worse than it already is. I really hate him. He should consider DYING.

I’m THE MOST screwed up kid I know, in ways I can’t even tell or describe. How the hell do you expect me to be able to get up every morning with a big fucking smile on my face and say, “Gee, I’m gonna have a great day today,” When I can barely get myself to open my FUCKING EYES.

Every time I start basically screaming at the top of my lungs for some help in my figurative language, I get called a whiny bitch and told that I should stop moaning and maybe do something about it. What the fuck do I do? I don’t know what there is to be done! I don’t know why I’m depressed, why I can’t get myself to stop being depressed… I can’t even always tell you why I haven’t fucking killed myself yet!

It’s clear to me that nobody gets this, but you know, it really SUCKS when nobody can understand that it just hurts.

I’m so sick of living. I’m sick of people, and school, and not being able to sleep, and not wanting to eat, and not being able to function… I’m sick of being awake, and I’m sick of sleeping. I’m going to fucking DIE if I keep treating myself like this, but at this stage in the game I so totally don’t give a shit that I can’t even describe it to you.

I’m tired of this whole “living” bullshit..

I should seriously consider getting rid of all my categories and just putting all my posts under “Stuff.” It’d make my blog and my life a little less messy. :/

It seems that, as I’m getting older, more people are expecting things of me. It’s stressful when someone asks you “what wrong?” and you absolutely cannot answer them, because you absolutely don’t know. Very stressful indeed, but it seems that everyone and their mother expects me to know what’s wrong even when it’s obvious that I don’t. I mean, think about it; if I knew what was wrong, wouldn’t I tell you? Well, maybe I wouldn’t tell you, but I would at least try to do something about it on my own, right? After all, I am 15 years old and have a mind of my own at this point. I know it wasn’t quite so obvious a couple of years ago, but me and my mind have been getting to know each other slowly. And when I say slowly, I really mean slowly.

Getting to know the mind of a mood disorder is hard. I’ve been hanging around her for all of my 15 years, and I still know very little. She’s secretive, and quiet, and doesn’t like to talk, so getting her to open up is proving to be the hardest thing I’ll ever do in all my life.

Now, you might be wondering what the point of this rambling is, but I’m not going to tell you yet. Patience is a virtue, and while I seem to be the only person who can apply patience to myself at a given moment in time, I will have to ask that you try to apply this same kind of self-control. At least try to refrain from hitting the little red ‘x’ on the tab.

I have a mood disorder. I’m pretty sure it’s Cyclothymia, but I don’t have an official diagnosis, so I’m labeled by the mental health professionals as an “Undiagnosed Mood Disorder.” It actually wouldn’t surprise me all that much if I had a Histrionic personality disorder, too. I mean, Tempestuous sounds like me, doesn’t it? Total nymphomaniac, yea, I fit the title.

But that’s off topic, isn’t it? I have a mood disorder, undiagnosed, unknown, untreated really, and apparently “uncontrollable.” But we all know that the fact that I “can’t control myself” is a load of crap, right? Especially that whole “you’re addicted to hurting yourself”. That’s utter bullshit, and I think everyone reading this knows that very well.

I don’t really care what you think the reason behind my self-injurious behavior is, but it’s definitely not an addiction. I have thought about it off and on for all the months since January, and every time I decided “Nah, I don’t wanna.”

Anyway, I guess this post is long enough by now, right? I’ll get straight to the point from here on out.

If you can’t handle my self-injurious behavior, my depression, my ADHD, my mood disorder, my emotional instability, and the fact that all of these come together to make KIMMIE 1.5, then go away and don’t talk to me anymore.

And if this post pissed you off, then maybe we really shouldn’t hang out/talk/be a part of each other any more. I’m getting to be sick and tired of having to be in a good mood to have friends. It’s rather miserable when your friends will only be your friends when you’re happy with the world. It’s tiring after a while, especially when they get pissed off at me for having issues with things like self-esteem and whatever the fuck else is wrong with me. Yes, I’m talking about you, Princess.

There’s only one more thing for me to say: don’t stick up for yourself in the comments, because I know better than to listen to the one who says they didn’t do it.

So, I send David an email a little while ago, telling him that I was cutting off all ties because I didn’t want to hurt him anymore than I knew I already had.

I deserve to die. And don’t even TRY to tell me otherwise, because we all know its true at this point. No, actually, you lot of idiots should’ve realized that I deserved to die when I was about six or seven.

I think I’m going to skip school for about a week.

Long story short; Dad was snarling at Ricky, being spiteful to a twelve year old, and I told them both to stop acting like children. Ricky tells me to shut up, I shush him, and Dad yells at me to ‘stay out of it’. I tell him to act his age. He says “Well, why don’t you shut up?” and I repeat that he should act his age.

I know I’m in the wrong, but still. “Why don’t you shut up?” What the fuck kind of come back is that? I used that when I was eight and fighting with Natalie.

I haven’t updated in a while, but then again, there hasn’t really been anything to tell you, other than that I got a 95% in Global Studies and a 81% in Biology. Don’t know the rest of my grades yet.

Other than that, I’m kinda still subtly falling to pieces. I barely notice it myself, but I am going there. This is utter bullshit. I hate myself. Well, at least I’ve got good music to listen to.

…

I’m a little bit frustrated with him. Just a little.

Close my door” does not mean “Leave my door open a crack.”

You are a fucking dumbass; listen when I’m talking to you. I’m pissed enough as it is; you’re stupidity is not helping. I don’t give a damn is Clyde has a problem with my door being shut. The rest of you can deal with it; I have my headphones on.

First of all, Gina wasn’t acting like a parent, idiot. She was acting like a concerned big sister, and you have absolutely no right to tell her not to be a concerned big sister. You and mom both constantly yell at me and Gina for being mean to Ricky, and yet, for some awfully strange, unforeseen reason, you, Dad, feel like you have the right… no, you seem to have the nerve to tell Gina that she was butting in?

If you’re going to play it like that, then you were butting in too, because this little bike affair was none of your business either. It was completely Ricky’s business. You shouldn’t have said anything either Dad, because you weren’t directly involved. Being able to hear it out your window doesn’t mean that it concerns you.

Don’t try to be anyone’s father after you’ve been ignoring us for the past eight years. More specifically, don’t try to act like Ricky’s father after you’ve been ignoring him for eight years. No, make that twelve years. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show an ounce of affection for either of your boys, even though they look up to you more than me and Gina ever will.

We’re not ganging up on you. This is me talking from my perspective. Gina didn’t con me into this and I’m not being biased. I haven’t liked you at all in a long time, and most certainly haven’t respected you. But that doesn’t mean that I’m just agreeing with Gina because I don’t like you. I’m agreeing with Gina because she’s right and you are wrong. I’m sorry to have to break the news to you, but I’m still smart enough to be able to tell when you’re just being a douche and Gina’s getting angry.

Oh, yes, there was one more thing I wanted to mention. It’s a little bit… well, okay, its completely off topic, but I still wanted to mention it. No, I’m not going to listen to any crap about how you’re trying. I don’t even give a damn anymore.

Stop pretending that you’re concerned about me. I’m just about sick and tired of you constantly saying that “You’re worried about me” and that “If I need to rant, I can just come to you,” Because I know that it’s not true. If I tried ranting to you about you then you would get defensive. And don’t tell me that you won’t because you will. Besides that, you don’t even know what the hell I need, so shut up! I don’t need to rant! I don’t need to yell! What I need is something that you can’t give, never will, and never did! I don’t need you’re help, I’ll fix my damn problems on my own, so stay out my way!

First of all, while this is fairly irrelvant, or so you may think, every summer, i fall to pieces. You know this, I know this, I’m pretty sure we all know this. I had a nervous breakdown loast year, slit up my wrists the y ear before… I kinda wonder what stupid stunt I’m going to pull this time. Maybe I’ll run away from home for a couple of nights. Probably not, but hey, its out there. It’s an option that will get me in trouble, like I seem to want so badly.

Now, yes, I know that was kind of beside the point, but its something to think about. What was the same those last two years, and what’s the same this year? I don’t know myself, because my memory of my past is actually fairly poor, so you’ll have to talk amongst yourselves to figure out if that’s the case.

Lets see… what else is there that I can see in this abyss of my mind? I see an anxiety, oh yes, a bad one. A terrified little girl crying as she is curled up in a ball, praying to whoever will listen that something can be done to fix her messed up life, make everything the way its supposed to be, and maybe even save her family from separation. That’s all IÂ want right now; I don’t care about the job, I don’t care about the money. I just want to be friends with everyone in my family, and not just Gina and Mama. YOu boys in this house might think that I hate the lot of you, which I don’t, but you’re not really trying to make yourselves a little different so that you won’t irritate me so easily. You should know by now why I snap at you all the tiome, so why can’t you fix yourselves and try to be more cautious around me, instead of being the ignorant fools that I loathe.

That, in more basic words, is me saying ‘lets fix this together, and become a family again, okay?’ And while I know the chances of you listening to what I have to say are slim, I still have to hope. After all, if I don’t, who will?

What else is there that has my head in a bundle of scrap metal? Well, I’m not quite sure, honestly. It’s gotten pretty dark in here. Its kind of lonely.

I don’t know if this is a burn-out, or if its something that’s serious. I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out. I’ve done my bit in trying to figure out what I can. At this point, my brain seems to be shutting itself down. Until next time….

~Kimmie, sort of.