I come home, worn down and exhausted, humbled and scorned (Not to mention dramatic), and I emerge into my living room seeking respite. I walk into to witness several alcohol-fueled screams from my mother about how much of a shit-head I was, my brother with a few of his juvenile friends trying as hard as possible to provoke my mother. I simply walk through the room, paying as minimal attention as possible to the cacophony of slurs and noises in the room, and head to my room, opening the door just as gently as I do when I close it. I ease my jacket off my shoulders, and roll them, back and forth, just as I did after a long day at band camp; I get little release of pressure, however, the shouting and bangs from the living room still sit painfully in my stomach. The constant fights, pressure of bills and money always a cloud over our heads, the hurtful words and harsh scowls, it's like a slap in the face to me. I come home, at least a little forgetful about my problems, and it's all just sitting there, waiting for me to come back, to spring into me, making the idea of an even basically-functional family a mere dream that I had every night. It's not as if I wasn't aware that I always have problems, believe me, I'm well aware of them every time I lay down in my bed or look in the mirror; I'm well aware of how my face isn't the most pleasant one around, or how my internet history might reveal a few bizarre sites, I'm very much aware of my problems. The separate worlds of my problems have started to merge however, the difficulties of home and school life slowly working their way into each other, weaving themselves together so tightly, until I always have a scowl on my face, and I rarely smile, problems always being on my life. I suppose this is life. Even an optimist can't smile every minute of every day. I also suppose I shouldn't be complaining, there are dozens of things I can blame it on. Hormones being the big one, it's just hormones, I'll get over it. Every teenagers goes through it, it'll pass, it's just a phase.


I'm really hoping that they're telling the truth, whoever they are.

Because, if they're not.


Then I can't imagine living my whole life like this.
(End of dramatic rant, you may judge me as you see fit, I don't really have a preference, I've gotten everything I wanted to say out. Thanks for listening.)