The fall of freadom;
The weakness that comes with knowing you have never tased freedom.
I've never been allowed to do what I wanted. Even now; my own income, my own car ... my own priorities. I knowm that if I went, I would have to declare it. If I had a called, if someone called it would be explained. And disobidience ... any sort of disobidience would be punished.
Even if I had my means entirely, she would still run me. I will always be the youngest child.
The last time I cried while writing, I'd heard what sounded convincingly like my mother saying she hated me.
I know it's not what she said but it felt the same.
Then I cried for lack of notice.
Now my tears are shed from a lack of power; a festering pain that stems from knowing simply that "I'm not allowed." If I am forbidden from it or it from me then I will not complain. That's all they see. I will cry for it in my room and simply do what I'm told ... and that's all they see ...
Sometimes I wish they'd see the tears I leave on the floor.
Listening to: My thoughts ... they scare me
Reading: The breaths between my sighs
Watching: My computer screen go fuzzy
Playing: with my toes