I havent written in awhile, sorry. There just wasnt really anything to write about. Well there were things to write about, but too many things. I dont know why I do this, but sometimes I will want to die. And I will say so too. "I want to kill myself" is said quite frequently. But then I really think about it... and I know that it wouldnt be worth it. Just like life isnt worth it. If I was to put my life and my death on a scale, they would weigh the same amount. I really cant decide which would be more painful. My favorite part of the day is when I come home and take off my clothes and just feel the air on my skin. It is so realxing to be out of those restrctions. It makes me drowsy. My honey is a gimp right now. It is kind of entertaining when he is drugged. I am gonna miss him, but he needs some rest, and my family wants me to be home more often. They are getting nervous about "someday". The someday when I will move out and get my own life and take care of myself and only see them on a semi-regular bases. I am their little girl, so it is somewhat understandable... but what about all the shit I caused? You would think they would want to get me out sooner that later. I had a talk with my mom about that last night. "He's my best friend, I like spending time with him." "You are a member of this family, you need to spend some time with us too, and not just sleeping." "Its not like I am going anywhere mom, I am still gonna be part of the family no matter where I am." "I would just like you stay home for awhile ok?" "You grounding me?" "If thats the only think that is going to make you stay here then yes." "You know the only reason I leave most of the time is because everyone just fights with each other. I cant handle it. I dont want to be around when dad starts bitching." "Your dad takes care of you." "And he also makes me want to kill myself mom. I love him, but he is a douche." "What did you just say?" "Dad is a douche mom, I dont like hanging around when he is home." "He is your father, respect him." "Yeah, whatever. I dont want to talk anymore. I'll be upstairs. Do you need anything?" "Yeah, I left my tea up on the kitchen counter, could you bring it down for me?" "Yep I can." "Thankyou." "Your welcome." And thats how that conversation went. I really hate being here sometimes. I love just being in the same room, I love watching him, I love hearing his voice. My lips are chapped. I think I have a cavity. I was thinking of getting and ankle tattoo... with waves going all around it. I havent quite decided yet though.