God forbid I have a bad day, am stressed, or just tired. I’m not allowed to feel these ways apparently. Yet it’s perfectly fine for me to be your doormat isn’t it!? It’s perfectly fine for you to treat my like shit and to use me but I can’t react to it. You force me to drive Cynthia to and from school, force me to drive you to work and then pick you up at 6am. I ask for gas money and immediately I’m the bad person in the whole situation. I bring up the fact that when Grandma lived with us she didn’t pay rent, but you guys paid her $200 a month to take Cynthia back and forth to school but I need a measly few dollars for gas just to ensure I can make it back and forth to work until Monday and I get bitched at. I have a fucking attitude and should be grateful blah blah blah. How about you take your fucking “attitude” and shove it up your goddamn ass. I know your secret. I know what is hidden beneath your mattress. Keep treating me like shit, I’ll tell your whole world what I found. Do you really want everyone to know that you smoke CRACK!!?? I found the glass pipe, the brillo pad, and the little tar brillo pad balls. I’m no fucking idiot. Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice the strange black balls lying on your floor next to your bed? Cynthia wouldn’t notice something like that but I would. I leaned down to pick up one of the balls and when I noticed what it was I also noticed your mattress looked odd in one spot so I lifted it up and I found your paraphernalia. You people disgust me. Mom, dad, how could you do this!? Little do you know that I know what you do. So please, by all means, treat me like garbage. Keep making me wish that I was dead. I’ll make you wish that you were dead.