I bottle things up. I don’t like expressing my feelings. I hate when people ask how I feel when it is none of their business in the first place.
I talked to my dad and faux-stepmom about living here and actually “being a part of the family”. Part of me meant it, the other part of me didn’t.
It’s fucking crowded here. My dad, his gf, her daughter and her husband have a baby on the way, and I’m sleeping in a bedroom with 3 dressers and bags of clothes everywhere. I don’t wanna deal with a bitchy and hormonal pregnant lady. She’s already given me attitude that I don’t deserve. I’m turning 25 this year and still dependent on these people and yet there is no space LITERALLY here for me. How can they expect me to want to be here?
I want my own place but I know I’m incapable of getting it with the situation I’m in now. But I can’t wholeheartedly believe them when they claim they’ll help me as much as they can. They are preoccupied and I would rather keep myself in a corner. I’m okay being isolated, I’ve been doing it for quite awhile. Why bother changing now.
Hate my hair cuz its too poofy and I look like Dora the Explorer.
Hate my job—though I love my coworkers/bosses/my fav customers/cheap clothes shopping, I can’t take the monotony or the busting my ass for barely any pay.
Hate sending out my resume only to get rejection after rejection.
Hate that I’m a vagabond between 3 different houses; Mom’s, Dad’s and Edwin’s
Hate the stigma pot-smokers get. What I do in my off-time is my business, no one else’s. And I’m not a damn degenerate either. I graduated (Dean’s List btw), pay my bills, and I’m friggin responsible.
Hate not knowing the future.
Hate living paycheck to paycheck.
Hate not knowing my place.
Hate to doubt myself.