The Talk

If you want to talk to me about it, talk to me about it.

Because you avoiding the topic is getting old. And, for your information: Just because I don't bring it up, doesn't mean I was lying.

You know, I always get accused of that. And I promise you that I am not. I leave things out, but am I really supposed to tell you everything when I know that you are going to act like this?

Making jokes about suicide and complaining to everyone that you got a daughter that you didn't want is getting old.

We can talk about fun things. Like how i would cut myself so much that my entire wrist was red and scratched and Walker was the only person to notice.

But, it could be more fun if we break out my collections of suicide notes. Those are fun to talk about. Let's do it over dinner to reminisce about this life i would give anything to forget about.

Well, the joke is on you. I'm finally at the point that I am just living to die. I have officially gotten out of my stupid phase of thinking I was different. I'm not. I wasn't meant to be here. Not here. Not now.

Someone told me that God didn't make any mistakes. But, that's not true.

They just haven't found me yet.