Vent

Sometimes I seriously want to die just to find peace; I know it’s annoying for me to say I want to die, but I’m afraid to actually try. My dad says I don’t appreciate them; I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I fucking HATE my dad. He cheated on my mom both before and after I was born; he was so cruel to me when I was 12 or 13—everything was my fault. He’d call me a son of a bitch and a whore. I hate him so much that I punch the walls hard. Whenever I want to share something cool—like getting a perfect score in geography—my ​​mom seems to ignore me because she’s on her phone; it infuriates me, like my efforts are being thrown in the trash. When I was six, I told her I’d been sexually abused by a teenager my mom trusted, but she didn’t do a damn thing; that destroyed me.