I don't eat, not because I'm not hungry, because I am hungry, the same way we dont hurt someone, even though we want to. I'm not trying to kill myself, more so I just want to stop living. I lay on my floor and imagine that i am in the woods, decomposing. I don't have a segway into this next part, I just need you to hear me and feel my emotions too. I go to these doctors appointments and I hear my mom talk about me, about how I cant remember things, or how I don't stay awake, but I am happy. Sometimes I want to shout at those appointments. Sometimes I want to scream about how I don't want to get out of bed anymore because if i get up I see them in the kitchen, makin fun of me and who I 'used' to be, because when I came out to her, she thought it was for attention. She can handle the fact that she let my sister bully me, she apologizes for it and she regrets it, but when it came to admiting that her 2nd husband molested me for three years, she told me that I was a liar. I want to look at my doctor and shout about how my dad will have these breakdowns, and he wont talk about them with anyone, but I'm expected to understand what he goes through. I just want to scream sometimes, and i think thats okay. My anger isn't my fault I dont think. I feel like I get angry alot but I'm not angry most of the time, so I should be proud of myself for that. My friend was angry, he was always angry. At the world, at himself, at his family. He had a family that didn't understand him or what he was going through, they made him take pictures with people, and yelled at him for smoking weed, yelled at him when he didn't eat, yelled at him when he said he didn't want to do chemo anymore. He was in 7th grade when he died. I asked his mom about him 2 weeks before he passed, she said he was fine, that he was getting better, her definition of better was different from mine. He wanted to go skateboarding with me before christmas. His mom told him it was too cold. We didn't get that skateboard ride. Christmas had passed, and I made the call, I asked her everything how he was doing. She said he was doing better, and that the chemo, that she made him stay on, was working. So on january 13, when I got the call that he passed, I didn't know what to do. I think about him alot. He told me that he wanted to go to the moon one day, and I promised I'd go with him, he told me to go for him. Looking back on him now, he would have made fun of me now. He would have told me to eat, he would have told me that what my dad did was wrong but I couldn't let it control me, he would have kicked my ass for being depressed. He was supposed to live. I wasn't. I don't know what this confession is supposed to be, am I telling you how I feel, what am I doing here. I dont know what all this is suposed to be. I dont know what secret I've kept forever that I cant tell anyone. I'm just sad i guess. I want to die, in the woods, and decompose against the cold earth, but I can't do that right now, because there are people who need me. So, I guess this is it. -x