is never fine.
but we’ll be okay.

i am too tired to write. so i shouldn’t. i’ve been up this late before. countless times. but my eyes have never stung so badly. they are bloodshot, and i have to be up tomorrow. you know, i got to be alyssa, at the top of my game.

game? there is no game. i’ve got me no game. i can’t play those games.

so what? what’s on my mind, you ask? you don’t ask. but i tell:

i’ve always wanted to be normal. white picket fence normal. but i am not.

when i was four my mom threw a fork at my dad’s face. when i was four i fell in love with brandon weiss. he was going to take me away.

when i was six, i fell from a tree swing and messed up my back. i get migraines like you wouldn’t believe. pounding pain in my head for no reason. coffee makes it feel better.

when i was ten my mom hit me for the first time. i guess that i refused to clean my room. i hate cleaning my room. when i do get that urge it’s like this sick obsessive compulsive thing that takes me into the night. i can’t stop til i can see my reflection in my pillows. it doesn’t make sense. not to you. or to me.

when i was eighteen my mom hit me for the last time. i hit her first. i love my mom. i think i just have some pent up rage.

when i was twenty-two i realized that my dad actually loved me. i still question it. but i’ve learned to understand what might be impossible to ever be said.

it’s not your pity that i want. cause the more i look at people, at pasts, i am not alone. everyone gets hurt. most more than me. i just talk about it a lot more. i like to bring it out.

i would be afraid to like anyone that knew me completely and still liked me. i’d feel a little worried for them. i might consider them insane. you’d have to be insane to really like me.

it’s the truth. i was forty when i became normal. white picket fence normal. and i despised every minute of it.