Things.

Fact that, I don't think my parents realize that I'm changing, and if I'm not, I'm pretty sure something is severely messed up with me right now. I know that I babble a lot, and talk all nonsense shit like, all the freaking time, but that is my creative side talking, and all are nothing but words that are spewed at that moment. But at this second, right now when everyone inside my home is asleep, away in their dreamland--or nightmare-land, for whatever reason that I don't give a crap on--I feel like I am not myself, and I just want someone to point it out for me, to tell, straight into my face that I'm changing, and changes sucks.

I mean, I spend days, in and out, breathing the same air as my parents, and they don't even seem to realize that I am too close to break apart. I am tearing at the seams, and all they see is this image of their daughter, who is always too lively for her own damned sake, and that daughter who puts up sarcasm as her best defence. Yet, they choose not to see the dark circles around her eyes, or the twitches in her expression when the light is too bright, or the hitch in her breath when something hit too hard or too close.

I hate to be that girl--like the one in those young adult novels--that breaks into million of pieces, a little too late for anyone to fix, but somehow miraculously manage to overcome everything. I hate to be that, but that is what I am becoming.

I wish someone is out there, willing to hear to me, to my stories. I'm just sick of waiting, just waiting for someone to see the cracks on my fine surface, to see my crumble into pieces, little by little as the day goes by. I want someone to help me, save me. I'm not fine, I am nowhere near fine.