the miserable life of a miserable teenager -
tw chapter seventeen - high
Doesn’t feel like it did at the start, yet that’s when I could turn around. Irony’s funny. My brother, the pothead, gasped when I told him weed is the only way I can sleep, besides exhaustion.
My mother, nearly cries every time we have an interaction.
I’m fucking sorry.
I’m sorry I only feel okay when my eyes won’t open fully.
I’m sorry I stink up the whole house, because I’m selfish and can’t avoid the temptation.
Going outside is now considered, hard work.
I can’t explain how sorry I am.
But can we please talk about this later,
you’re ruining my high.
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