i just... don't understand things. like why am i such a bad kid? why do i do the things i do? is writing my only escape? is it just this temporary relief from reality (periodically interrupted by outbursts from her) that i resort to but never seem to finda anything from or get anything from? my writing has beginnings. it has ends. it seems as though this torment has no beginning, no end. the end might be the day i die. when is that day? is it near, or, hopefully, far? and if it is far, what happens between now and then? permanent torture from her, every day she is present in my life? even if she is not there in physical form, she is ever present in my mind, always making me question, always making me think and perhaps even helping me or pushing hard enough to the point where i make the wrong decision. maybe even though she wants me to make the right choice, and she thinks she is helping me make it, she hurts me and pushes me so hard that make the wrong one on purpose. maybe i do it becuase even if i ake the right one, i know that there will b something wrong with it. even somthing that seems so "black and white" as lying vs. telling the truthis a hard decision, and even thoughi know i should always tell the truth, something deep inside me terrifies me, so i lie. i lie about little things, huge things, things that matter greatly, and thigns of the tiniest importance. i don't understand why she makes me feel the way i feel. do the things i do. little things, like her taking away my cell phone just.. KILL me.. make me want to scream... maybe it's knowing that she can still take control of me combined with the desperate desire to take control of my life and of what seh does to me and how she makes me feel. i want to scream... to run away... for her to not be here, to never lay eyes on her haunting figure again. i almost want someone to find my writing. to know what i go through... every single day of my ongoing life. i feel trapped inside this body... like something is just dying to get out and i want so desperately to let it go but i have no idea what it is or how to set it free. i want her to cry. i want her to hurt. i want her to feel some of my pain. to give it to her as a special gift, send with true, pure, hatred. i want her to know what it's like to be treated this way... and then expect her to not do the things i do. so its my fault i feel this way. it's my fault that i feel this way. it's my fault that i have so much anger. its my fault i feel so stronly about everything, that my pen has only stopped when she's yelling so loudly these lies of hers, that i completely lose my train of thoughtand have to reread everything i've written. all these feelings are finally being put down in words that can't be lost or twisted or confused or forgotten. here they are, for everyone who cares to see, to read and comprehend and maybe to finally understand what a Hell i am going through. how can one person make her own flesh and blood have these feelings and thoguths and hurts and pains and disappointments and everything that is bad? how is it so possible? how have i never been able to write things down this clearly and this close to my feelings before? was i afraid, that someone would read them and really know about me? if someone knows all these things, if they read this, then they pretty much know me. like she said last night... me in a nutshell: liar, manipulator, wants to do what i want and to hell with everyone else, rude, bad child, hater.... if whoever reads this thinks i'm insane or something is wrong w/me maybe they're right... but that is the end of it for them... they read it, i'm crazy. endofstory. but if this makes someone cry... because its so deep and true... and so close to my heart... or they feel the exact same way about something... i want to talk to them. now that i have a good portion of the massive hurt and pain that i truly feel inside of me written down, what do i do? wher edo i turn for help? all i can think of is that the thing that makes me feel this way has to go. it has to be gone. if she weren't there, i would have no one to hate, no one to write like this about. i might b able to go one full week without cring because of her. maybe a full day being happy. i hate my mom. with all my soul and body and entire being.