Seems a little bit sad, you know. Sitting here blogging on Christmas when I should be out there having fun - but I guess almost every celebratory day is like this for me, at least it is when it concerned my parents. I'm Bailey Rose, nineteen, and I basically started this blog today because I'm made it un-googleable by my friends and family. No one is going to read this and no one is going to care about this. Actually, I kind of hope someone does read this, but probably someone I don't personally know because everything I personally know thinks I'm some sort of crazy attention hogger or something anyway.
Tonight was hard. Isn't it funny that they expect everyone to be a nice big happy family and spend all these occasions together when in reality you're all just pushing each other further away? For Christmas, I don't get presents, I don't get a Merry Christmas, I don't get any sort of happiness from my parents (better than my birthday, my own father's forgotten how old I am and I didn't even get a "Happy Birthday". Mum took me to see a musical though, but I had to order and pay for the tickets myself). My grandparents think I'm trouble and seem to be constantly watching me, expecting me to, I don't know, pull out a bong or something at any moment (I'm clean, damn it!). Every time I eat, I'm constantly reminded by everyone around me about how I'm fat, ugly or something. And does it help that I'm having a fucking argument with my parent over going out with my friends tomorrow after our shopping trip, she's threatening to slap me across my fugly face, and my goddamn family member won't fucking stop taking photos of me when I'm not looking, not in the goddamn mood. I hate taking photos of myself and I was about seconds away from punching him in the bloody face. So I walked away.
Sometimes, I really do hate my life. I don't deserve to hate my life, I have a house and I can afford to buy what I want/need (I pay my own way through life and I work for my own money or rely on government hand-outs, I just live with my family still). But it doesn't make it go away. Nothing seems to ever make it go away. I've been told on multiple occasions that it's obvious that I'm depressed, so maybe I am, what difference is it ever going to make if there's no one around me that cares anyway? Tonight, I needed someone to tell this to, and I guess it's best to do it on a blog that no one's gonna read. I thought about messaging the few friends I have that I can actually rely on, but everyone should be having a good time and A is probably still with J anyway. As usual, I'm on the outside. But it's okay, it's all my own fault anyway.
I keep looking at those scars on my wrist and thinking, just maybe you know? Like, one time wouldn't be that damaging right? Just one cut down my arm. No, maybe on the top of my thigh, I got caught with my wrist the last time, and I work where people ar constantly exposed to my arm. The top of my thigh is more secretive. But I promised that Boy that I wouldn't do it, and I should be keeping my promise. At least he can make me believe that someone cares right?
I don't know what to do anymore, I just wish everything would stop already. I'm going to the Boxing day sales tomorrow, with the wrong people and at a time much too late to actually find much worth buying, but what ever, my Christmas is (as usual) fucked up, might as well fuck everything else up as well.
CW: 135lbs
GW1: 110lbs
UGW: 99lbs
BMI: 25 (Fat)
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