Scared infant goat mouth.

I have yet another letter. To her.


Dear _________,


I have no other way of explaining my feeling towards you than the simple phrase "I hate you". I hate the way you chew your food like a goat and how you drive like a mentally disabled 97-year-old on crack. I hate how you think puzzle pieces fit together when you shove them until they are bent and twisted. I hate how when you do things, your left hand just hovers, almost entirely useless. I hate how everything you cook turns out as something that looks like it came form a dead animal's stomach and I hate how when you make candy at Christmas time, you screw it up and ruin the nostalgic moment of it all. I hate how you forget things and how you get mad at people for the things you do wrong. I hate everything about you. How you raised your son, and how you treat me and the way you walk. I hate how your eyes sometimes look like an infant's, lost and empty. I hate how you try to talk when you have an already too large amount of food in your mouth. I hate when you make jokes and smirk halfway through when they aren't funny, no matter how clever you think they may be. I hate how you are under the impression that my friends find you funny when they are just laughing out of pity, politeness, or nervousness. I hate you for everything you've done and even the things that happened to you that you couldn't help. I hate it. But really, what I hate most of all, is how my friends hate me for hating you. For them not understanding that I wished you would have just died. I hate you for them having sympathy for you and not me. I hate that no matter how badly you treat me, I will always be the selfish one and the one who is acting horrible or being mean. I hate that I want you dead. And I hate that I'm the only one in my family that has the guts to tell you to your face, yet again making me the bad guy. I hate that you didn't just die so I could love you when you did. Now, when you die, I'll hate you and I won't really care. And I hate you for that. And I hate you because I know it's not my fault for hating you, but everyone believes it is.

Emily.



Sometimes, I wish I wasn't so scared to pretend to be happy. And sometimes, I wish I wasn't so scared to be my horrible self. And I'm scared at what that means I am.

Death in the Bermuda Triangle.

Sometimes, I will take the time to pay attention to my parents and then maybe, just maybe, listen to the shit that spills from their rotten mouths. I find it so horrible they way they look at each other with hate and a painful amount of desperation. How could anyone live like that and not have tried to stuff a grenade up their own ass? The things they say to me and how they purposely try to make me mad. I want to vomit up every horrible moment of this life so I can forget it and maybe have a chance. I want a chance to not know who they are so that maybe I won't turn out to be exactly like them. But, I know I can't do such a thing. Which is why I tell people I am never going to get married, never going to have children, and am going to die in my 20's so I won't ever have to become like them entirely. People think I am twisted and a freak and they are right. I am demented. I don't want to get married and hate the person I'm with but stay with them for my druggie son and fucked up daughters sake and end up making every mistake I tried so hard to avoid. Fuck that. I'm out.