Pity the Fool

Life sucks. I mean, I get that we have to save money and stuff, but I really don't get why my parents don't just let me buy whatever I want. It's not like it's that expensive, and besides, my social life depends on whether or not I get that pair of designer jeans.

My friends all have them, Hell; even one of my teachers has a pair. Here I am wearing old, ratty, off the rack jeans. My parents obviously don't get it. Maybe, back in the Stone Age where they're from, they didn't have nice cloths and makeup and jewelry, but I do. At least, I want to.

My friends all make fun of me now, and it's awful. I can't make friends, or get into the social cliques if I look like a homeless person. That's just common sense; people don't want to be around someone that makes them look bad. I certainly wouldn't.

My mother is always going on about how there's always someone that's worse off than yourself, but in this case, I don't think that's right. I guess the black people in Africa, or something, but seriously, in my school, it doesn't get worse than this.

The worst part is my parents don't even get why I'm so upset. They think I'm overreacting, which I am totally not.

The other day some girl who I don't know (really unpopular) walked past me in the hall. She glared at me and then turned to her friend and told her (another really unpopular girl) friend that it was like going to the school with the cast of "Clueless". I don't even know what Clueless it, but I took it as an insult.

How dare she, doesn't she know that I can make her life a living Hell? Ugh, even without my nice pants I'm better off than her.

My parents are getting a divorce. I swear I think my life is coming to an end. One minute they're the smiling happy couple, a dog, two kids, white picket fence, the whole nine yards. The next? Bam, "Sorry honey, don't think I love you anymore."

There wasn't even any kind of warning! They just split. There wasn't any yelling or fighting, nothing. I would have expected it if they were throwing bowling balls at each other or something, but no.

The worst part is nobody seems to think it's that big of a deal. My sister doesn't care ("So… I get two closets?") And all my friends are like "Well, it could be worse." No, it couldn't really.

It pisses me off, royally, that everybody thinks that they wouldn't care if their parents got divorced, as if they are somehow superior. It's like… they haven't been through this, so how would they know? They wouldn't, so they should stop bitching about my complaining.

The only person that doesn't complain is my best friend. At least she gets it.

I wish my father would die of alcohol poisoning. Then I wouldn't have to see his sorry, drunk face around the house, my mom would be happier, and maybe these ugly ass bruises would finally heal.

The worst ones are the ones that other people could see. The ones on my arms, my neck. My face. People rarely ask questions though, because they don't notice and don't care if they do I guess. On the bright side, I have a promising career in the SFX make up, if I ever get out of this house.

I'm just glad my father is just bright enough to know that he'd get caught if he tried anything serious, something with a knife. Even drunk, I guess he can still think. Or maybe he's never really drunk, just angry. That wouldn't surprise me really.

There're always moments when I wish he'd just kill me already. We're walking on thin ice, about to get in hot water. He's got to snap at some point, and I wish he'd go ahead and do it already. I think my mom, as vapid as she it, knows it to and thinks the same way as me. Then again, it might just be that his angry thoughts are getting to her, and she's beginning to think she deserves it.

Maybe she does, in some twisted way.

Maybe we should all just die in a house fire, save everyone the trouble.

Every time I hear someone talk about how much their life sucks it makes me sick to my stomach. How can they complain? They don't get the jeans they want, they have an annoying sibling, woe it them.

My mother hasn't gotten out of bed for two weeks. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or bad thing. If she stays in bed it means she's resting, not bothering me, and not hurting herself. On the other hand, if she's in her room twenty four/seven then she's not facing her issues, not getting better, and not keeping me from hurting myself.

The walls are closing in on all of us and I don't think I'm going to be keeping my job anymore. They know I'm not as old as my license says I am, and they know that I've got more problems than I said I did. Plus, I have taken more sick days than I care to count.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do.

If I can't feed us then we starve, simple as that. It's only a matter of time before they shut off our water, gas, and electricity. We'll have to go back to drinking out of our neighbors hose and showering in the gas station. Seems like such a long time ago, that life was that bad. I thought I was finally pulling everything together. Then Mom's mind started to dissolve faster than anyone thought it could, and we're almost back where we started.

It's my entire fault, and she knows it just like I know. I can't hold down a job, I can't do anything right. I lost at life, and I'm taking down everyone around me as I burn. It's my entire fault.

The guilt, the anger, it infects me. I can feel it moving in my veins. Then I remember that there's an innocent woman in the back room slowly losing touch with reality and talking to the walls and I think "Can I do this?" I know the answer is no, yet I continue to lie to myself.

I don't know if I can keep this up anymore.