Friday, March 11, 2011

Sans Sunshine

But I'm not dead yet, lovelies.

These last couple days have been very stressful. I've been handling it by not doing my homework. Not the best idea, I know. I've been comforted by the play we've been planning (the one I went shopping for on Monday) because it's kept me busy. But now the play is done. We performed it yesterday. There's not going to be anything to distract me from school now. Needless to say, not looking forward to getting up right now and getting ready to go to school.

It's been raining again. Pouring, rather. So grey outside. So cold and wet and rainy.

I know a lot of people who despise March weather. They find it "dead", it dampens their spirits. Honestly? I love it. The rain is so calming to listen to outside my window, and the trees look so pretty when they sway in the wind. And it really just means spring is on the way, so even if it's fogged up outside my window, so much that I can't see anything, I can wait for the nice weather. The flowers will grow better after this, anyway.

Though I don't like going outside much.

Lately I've been really prone to crying. Not that I haven't been like that since, what, last November? But it's been getting worse, to the point that if I think of one little bitty thing that makes me upset I break down into sobs. Then if thinking about something makes me happy, I know it will never happen and it makes me cry more. And then there's my brother. You know, if he would just leave me the fuck alone, maybe I'd be that little bit happier. When I'm staring out the window so forlornly, he'll ask me what I'm doing and why I'm being "emo". "I'm not being emo." "Then why are you staring outside." And I'll say something jokingly, like "I'm looking for Slenderman. I keep seeing him moving out of the corner of my eye." Then he'll roll his eyes. "You're fucking nuts," he'll say, "Slenderman's not real, so quit talking about him. That's all you ever talk about, you stupid bitch."

He has no right to talk to me like that. But he does it anyway because he knows he can get away with it. He's fourteen and takes jiujitsu. I'm sixteen and too lazy to roll myself out of bed in the morning. So he can sit there and call me fat and lazy and ugly and tell me that no boy would ever want me because I'm a raging psychopath, and if I try to say something back he'll punch me or twist my arm. And if I hit him in retaliation or try to break free when he puts me in a chokehold, I'm the one that gets in trouble because they never saw him do anything and I'm the one that's supposed to be setting an example for my younger sibling. And that's only when I actually see him. I don't have any friends that live in my immediate neighborhood like he does. He's out almost all day when he can be, hanging out with his friends at the park.

Sometimes I wish Slenderman really did exist. If only to scare my brother shitless.

Drip drop, drizzle drizzle. What a beautiful sound.

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