About Earlier Today

Today I was really upset... My older brother was just... Being his same old asshole self... *sigh*
I locked myself in my room for three hours.. Fumed to myself for ten minutes, sulked for twenty, slept most the rest.. I refused to open the door. I only opened it when Carson (the only person I can't seem to really hold a grudge at) knocked on the door with pizza. When I opened the door her gave me it and said he hoped I was feeling better, so I said "happy birthday, love ya kid" before I closed the door again.

I don't want you home for Christmas. Because you tend to make me only sad, and though I laugh with you, there are days when I wish I could strangle you.

When I went to my room.. It scares me a bit that all that went through my head is... "I want my knife.. Where's my knife.. Where's my fucking knife..."
I hate pain, I would never cut myself or commit suicide, because I have people who love me and pain is no release for me. But something's calming about a sharp blade by my side, so I can at least threaten to hurt myself if I need to, or freak them out if they dare enter my room or try to unlock it.
I couldn't find the knife.. Which was odd. I have it next to my bed, on the shelf near the teddies and all my random childish things. Funny how that is. It's a neat little dagger in its little leather sheath. I wonder if mom was scared, or if my dad saw the pictures.. Could've. They used my camera without my permission, and on that card I had some pictures that would disturb them a good amount. When I'm sad I do things, nothing that would harm me but things to express how I'm feeling. If that includes holding a knife to my neck, then I do it.

My brother mocks me for all I do, because he can't understand. He probably sees me as a coward, and he calls me an idiot frequently. He used to hurt me and so I sometimes wish to hurt him, but nothing can really equal the bulk of emotional pain he's inflicted upon me. Years. Years of his shit.
You have a side to you.. A side that comes out and that you take out on me. You always have.

Go to a fucking psychiatrist Alex. You have more disorders than I, and don't try to hide it. You feel like you don't belong, people stress you out, you're over-aware of everything, you think you're better and feel nothing even close to 'love'. I almost see you as inhuman sometimes.. You don't understand me when I say I'm in love, you're upset that I have a boyfriend, you never leave me alone. You want to control my life..... You want to control everything and punish me. Do you not think you're fucked up?

He claims he reads this blog. I don't give a flying fuck... Mom said Nana does sometimes too, told me to watch what I say. Well they can know the effin harsh truth if they want, I don't care. This is my life, it has it's hard times, and don't pretend they don't happen.

Count how many times you inflicted things by force, bro. The number of times you told mom she was raising me wrong, convinced her to be a bad parent, that I don't respect her, that I don't listen. COUNT the number of times you'd drag me downstairs by the wrist and make me go to bed. The times you blocked my path, dragged me to my room. The number of times I tried to hit you, told you to fuck off, cried because I missed when you were more good than bad. It started when I was.. Ten? At ten I realized, he wasn't who he used to be. I would ask my mom, why can't it be like it used to be..? Us having fun and smiling together..
I love my mom, I respect her, and she's one I trust very much...
Don't tell her things like that.
Don't tell her Wess drinks as if he's an alcoholic. Don't say he's bad for me like you'd know. WHY does it matter to you whether he hurts me or not? You hurt me all the time! He makes me happier than anyone ever has, I smile and laugh and you know it. You make me cry and you pull my hair, you make me 'respect' and you punish me like an abusive husband would screw with her mind. You. Fucking. Bastard.

You didn't get me a Christmas present this year because everything I said I wanted you didn't want to waste your money on.

You call me emo when I'm sad, you called me fat for months, you mock me for every guy I ever liked, you laugh at me when I print out their picture, you refuse to walk me to my room when I'm scared, you left me on the staircase too afraid to move, you laugh off everything you do to me, you say your sorry and I'll never accept it, you hug me as if you care, mom is convinced that you do and you control her, you make her hate me and you make her think I'm a useless pointless waste of space time and life. You --- you did more. What the fuck is wrong with you. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Yet I always seem to forgive you tomorrow, when all the cruelty from your eyes and words evaporate and you once again, pretend to be my brother.