Today I don’t feel as miserable as I was before. But I still have that gut feeling. My life is horrible. So I guess I’m just going to rant about it,,, sorry. Well I first started to actually know that i hated my family (I’ll explain that later) was when my mom started to hit me with a metal stick. It hurt I guess and I will never forget why. It was because I didn’t make my bed. I remember just rocking myself back and forth repeating I don’t want to die over and over again. this “post” probably would not make sense if you don’t know me. So I’ll start from the beginning.. I just wanted to let my feeling out.
Out for now~ Aris