Sometimes I really wish I didn't have to work. Just...be a princess, living the life of luxury, giving out orders from my plush, velveteen chair. The ruler of the roost. The Queen of all. But no. I have to work. I can't even have the pleasure of spending however much time I want on the computer. I am limited when my parents are home to only 2 hours.

I swear one day, I'm going to fucking win the lottery. Then, who shall call me weak, and lazy!? No one!!! No one will call me weak and lazy, never more.

Sometimes I think about killing myself. Letting it all end. But...I can never get around to doing that. I'm way to...to...skittish. To do that. To kill myself. Let it end. Let this pain and mental anguish end.

No one understands how my mind works. I don't believe anyone can. A look into my mind reveals worry, and flashing thoughts the speed of light. Thousands of images, many distrubing, and disrought with anguish.

I escape to my fantasy worlds more often then not. They keep my company when I'm down. They give me warmth, and the pleasure of knowing...someone truely loves me. But then, I'm dragged back to the cold, harsh reality that is my pitiful life.

I want some cigarettes. I'm out of them. I want a smoke. I wish I could go truely insane, and just live my life out in a mental hospital. Nothing to worry about. Be cared for, and looked after. So I'd have to wear a straight-jacket. So what? I wouldn't mind it. I'd proably love it. Be able to be held tight, never cold; sleeping how I want in a bed.

I'd bring my own snuggly blanket with me. My beautiful red one. And my little "blankie". Then, I'd be happy. Nothing else to worry about, just taking my medicine, eating, watching TV...and nothing else in the world....