Joe's wasted again, let me remind you he's 15. He took a bottle of vodka and refused to tell us where he hid it. I actually had to convince my mum that this isn't normal. Once he brought down the bottle, half empty, he decided it would be fun to hide my ciggerates.
Right now their both tucking into my homemade spaggheti bolognase (i can't spell it), that I refused to eat once i'd cooked. Mum thanks me and says it's lovely. Joe keeps insulting me.
I can't fucking take it anymore.
I went upstairs to my wooden heart box that i keep my emergency shard of glass in. I put it to my wrist, pressed hard, closed my eyes and ripped it across my skin. Not as much blood as I wanted, but enough. Enough to drench my sleeve in blood which nobody has noticed yet.
I can't take it, I can't take it, I can't take it.
I woke up this morning thinking "right lets go into college and get on with it" and i did, but that was cut short by mum. I come home with her and joe's getting pissed, being mean to me.
Now I have to type out thousands and thousands of words by tomorrow, and I just can't do it.
My head is spinning, and I am sober. Images that make no sense are flashing in my head. I can barely write this, it's hurting my wrist.
Can't take it, can't take it, can't take it.