Count to ten. Take a deap breath. Try again, in a new way to say what you wanna say, and try your best to ignore the faces they make and their mean thoughts, that are almost hearable if not just obvious. 'Cause it's okay. You've said it yourself: everybody is allowed to be here. That is, of course, the screaming hatebirds are allowing to sit and scream or stand and throw stuff. The rest of us just have to learn to be more tolerant, and accept that this floor is meant for those who scream and yell and whisper petty and mean things about the others. And if we can't, we can just fuck off, 'cause everybody is allowed to be here, so we're not to come and meddle, and tell you that it really shouldn't matter if that colour is purple or purpur - at least not matter enough to yell about for thirty minutes. But I guess I'm wrong and intolerant, 'cause you've raised me and feed me and dressed me, so I don't have the right to meddle. Though, obviously, you chose to have me, but I didn't get to chose anything.
It's weird, isn't it? How, when you've lived with someone for a long time, you seem to know anything they'll say bafore they say it, you feel like you can almost read their minds, and you know just how to piss them off or calm them down. And jet, however much you think you know them, they can still without really trying, piss you off in seconds. Whether they're deliberately trying to or just not aware of what is too much, it's so sudden that it's scary. The smallest thing can make it click, and you find yourself cursing and screaming things, that ought never be said or heard by anyone. Just like the time I heard you tell my mother, that you'd wasted 19 years. At the time, I was 16 and my brother 20. I don't know what hurt the most. I was just happy, that I wasn't living here at the time, so I packed my stuff and went to my school, not caring to explain to my teachers why I came back early, I just went to my room, turned of my phone and sat in silence. Then you moved to our holidayhouse, until it became to cold and you came back home. Everyone forgave you, they seemed to know that you just said it in anger and that it meant nothing. But I didn't care, I never forgave you for regretting giving me life. Of course, you've both always denied it. Especially when you came to my school to watch a show, and I just looked at you and told you to go home, take the bus or whatever, 'cause I didn't want you here. That's the first time I've ever made you cry, right there in front of my friends and teachers, my mother and brother. 'Cause I've always known, that I wasn't the daughter either of you dreamed of, I've always known I was an accident, though you've never told me.
You know that I'll be out of here soon. After the exams, the summerjob, I'm going out to travel or whatever. I don't really care wheretoo. I just need to get out from here, away from the always dissapointed looks. Oh, you only got ten? thats lazyness. You had pasta four days in a row? (well, atleast I did cook, despite him who just sits there). We almost called you after not comming home for two days after that night out, were you that drunk? No ma, just couldn't get in 'cause you'd locked the door, so I slept somewhere else. I don't now how or why, but I feel like I need to prove myself to you, to make you proud. But it will never happen, 'cause it'll never be me you're happy for or about, it's what other thinks of me. So, gradually, I've stopped caring for what you thought. I don't feel bad for talking trash to you anymore, 'cause if it's true, then you deserve it.
I remember this one time. I had been arguing with my mother, or well.. I was 13, she came to my room and told me to get out of bed, when I refused, 'cause it was saturday, she said something about this not being a hotel, and that I had to help and I answered "oh really? So you've been downstairs to wake my brother yet, or are you going to?" and then she called me a bitch. Or well, it was so funny, 'cause she pronounced it like.. in 'to be' , like betsch. It sounded so funny that I just started laughing loudly, and asked her to please not use words she didn't know how to pronounce, and when I got up and went to the batchroom to shower, my father came and grabbed by arm tightly. He was so mad, 'cause I'd made my mother cry, and i told him with a straight face that I hoped he'd be leaving marks on my arm, so that I'd be able to get away, to show my teachers and have them think that I lived with a violent father. He was so hurt and ununderstanding. He let go of me and ran downstairs. They literally didn't speak to me for a week. And I was fine with it. I know, it seems evil and unreal. But I do remember, when I was little, that every night, I wished for a real wish. For having someone grant me my parents telling me, that I was adopted. 'Cause even from such a young age, from the first couple of years in school, I learned that I hated being related to them. And I've always felt, that the worst someone could ever said to me, was that I were like my parents - in looks or personality, or that I'd probably end up living the same life as them. I know, people thought of it as compliments. 'Cause my mother is pretty and they have lots of money, and people think their nice. But I've always lashed out at people for these comments. The other day, a friend of mine told me, that "oh you're totally gonna have the same job as your parents and live like them in house with kids and. .." I told her to shut up, and that I thought she knew me. And she didn't understand, so she called it my "morning-anger." Amazing, right? I mean, how sometimes you think that someone knows and understands you, and yet they can say these kinds of things. And I know why, sadly. It's called apathy, with a hinch of ignorance.
The first real life-lesson I learned was this: "no one cares of anyone", I once wrote that on my wall, or well, wrote it on a piece of paper that i nailed to my wall. I completedly ruined my walls with these holes after nails, holding pieces of paper with random things on: songnames, songlyrics, poems, quotes, thoughts.. all of them so sad and lonely, but the saddest thing is, that noone ever really thought of why, they all just assumed that something was wrong with me, that it was some kind of rebellic face. And they still think that, 'cause now I'm just a liar and pretender, doing whatever is expected, just waiting until I can get away from here. I smile and laugh and drink with my friends, but when I come home and smile and laugh with my family, and go to bed, curling up like a cat, holding my breath so I wont start sobbing, and wait for sleep to overcome me. So you've ask me, all of you, how come I don't get jealous, wont have a boyfriend, never open up to you, never cry over anything and doesn't ever care what people call me, and who I've kissed when drunk. And I always lie, 'cause the truth hurts. If I told you that I honestly don't care of anyone, 'cause I've only ever been led down, mistreated, lied to and dishonered, whenever I trust someone, what would you say? I know. You'd say, that you'd never let me down, and then I'd have to lie again, 'cause you already have. I'd probably call you my best friend, but you've hurt me so many times. And I know now, that whenever something is important or unusual, I shan't tell anyone. 'Cause they'll simply use it against me, judge me og laugh, 'cause that's exactly what they've always done. So I just count to ten again, and again, and again, waiting for time to pass, to mend the part of me that keeps on breaking.
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