Send for Help

I found myself, yet again, at the front counter at McDonald's serving customers, mid panic attack. Grasping for air and aggressively turning into this woman that I haven't seen in over a year.

Only in the presence of my mother, of course. I have a thorough rush of sadness, all the time. the clock calculating my lack of breathing every short hour. Oh this horridness. How is it that I am seventeen years of age, and everything in this blog is only a year or so old. I can't begin to share with you the hardships before last year.

I just feel as though - my phone broke, my lap top charger broke, my lap top broke, my car broke, I have been removed from my home and now I am living with my mum. I'm not sure if I'm too self absorbed in these modern days to know if what I am saying is even an issue. They're all superficial items that we can live without. I guess it's because everything is failing all at once.

Hurt - Damaged. I am still recovering. and I still feel lonely as ever. Laying in my cluttered room, on my second, maybe third hand, fold out sofa bed my mum got me online the other day. In a beaten up car and chaotic life style. No financial support to even have lunch. Yes, I'm practically starving. How could I forgive Lynda for making me leave? After all she knows I've been through and after all she knows who my mother is.

Worst of all, Nobody understands what it is that is so wrong with being back with her. Because no one understands what kind of person she is. I am scarred, shattering and broken. A broken treasure to be found at sea by nothing less than a homeless man wanting to use me the same way my friends do. As a broke glass of beer, I shreik in the sound of the winds and guzzle beneath the Earth. I am living my own hell, yet again.

The stresses of waking up every morning just seem so... draining and not needed. Thoughts ponder my restless mind but I have no thought as of yet to play with the demons the way they are playing with me.

May Rhiannon and I find a home before my conscience settles in a little more and starts playing baseball with old mate called Satan. May I, Lord, find a way to remove this evil, this satanic, this poetic, yet war-worthy demon (demon) Demon DEMON that is consuming who I am, who I am. Who am I?

Send for Help, Samara is soon to be inactive.