Hate Me, You Bastard




Yeah, I know. Reading someone's diary is overrated. Looking through someone's personal life and seeing what they're truly like is something most people would die to do. Yet, at the same time, it's all people do.

I've read the stories; I've seen the movies.

The books are all some kind of cliché where they write about their love life, and something amazing happens that changes their lives forever.


But the thing is…that's basically what's not in here. It's nothing amazing; it's nothing spectacular; it's nothing that's gonna make you wanna read the next installment…chapter…whatever.

It's basically my life. My life and everything that goes on in it.

So…as I stare down at the empty page (the one that now has a total of 125 words in it), I think about my life as a downward spiral to hell.

Straight to hell. No side trips. Limbo is another thing that's overrated.

Let's summarize my life first.

I'm a nobody. I'm just a girl in a giant school filled with popped collars, big breasts, and sex.

I have no experience with any of the three.

My mother is an alcoholic, along with my father, but my father is…well…

He's a fucking psycho, that's what he is.

And the combination of those two things has made me quite the difficult person. Reasons being:

1. I don't talk to you.

2. When I do talk to you, it's usually an insult.

3. The insults are usually really, really harsh.

I don't understand the concept of love, and I never have. My parents hate each other, they both hate me, and I hate them in return. So yeah…the lack of love in the domestic household has led me to believe love is only something you read about in novels. Or diaries.

Like this one.

See…I thought I could never love anybody. I thought I had this really big brick wall that surrounded me, and no one, including me, would ever be able to bust it down.

Boy…was I wrong…

That wall came down like…well…a brick wall…

Let me know if you think I should continue. If I get five reviews, then I'll keep posting…