Why is it that there are many, many people crying in this world? Why do we get abused and mistreated from everyone else? Why can't they realize that we're just as human as they are? Why do they have to beat us just to prove something? Why, why, why? So questionable and its not my place to question people. All I know is that there are children out there crying. They're crying because they don't have anyone to love them. They don't have shoulders to cry on. Its so fucking sick that

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Basically what the blog says. Don't know why I'm putting this up. I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and see this up and be like what the fuck did I do last night? Well there we go. I broke my sober spree and now me and my friend are "drunk" and doing weird shit. Have a good day or night

This is basically for those who are reading my two stories "The Dead Rise" and "I Cry Blood" I will be working on a third story as well. I cried last night after putting the story "I Cry Blood" I cried because of my mom. My mom is stressed and its been reflecting on me and I'm the only one to "pick on". Don't worry I didn't have a drink. Even though it was fucked up, I'm not breaking my sober spree. And yes I still call myself "the pathetic quiet little drunk fucker". I'm putting up this story

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I did it. I fucking did it. I've gone 14 days sober. I've made my goal. I'm going to keep it up. I don't know how I'll do it but somehow I'll try to manage to keep it up. I'll still work on "The Dead Rise" and I'll be putting up a new story soon. It will be sad but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Maybe. Its also dark and a slice of life. I pit in the slice of life because well it has many of my issues, that's all. Well I hope you have a good day or night .

I look down at my pillow with the tear stains. I see the little puddles that have formed on it.......So funny that the little things can look so beautiful. Even when they aren't meaning a good reason. These things I adapt to. breaking my heart is useless. All you do is make a bigger puddle on my pillow. It's like the state I live in. It rains and my tears flow out of my eyes. They have been starting to slow down. I've noticed that much. I don't know what to call it. What do you call it when

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I know that I don't have to be reminded when I'm not wanted. I guess its just a gift or its something you seem to adapt to when your used to it.... Yeah, I guess they think that they have to remind me. Its not necessary to remind me anymore. They think getting me a psychiatrist will help me. How fucking stupid are they? Do they really think I'll fall to a bunch of backstabbers. That's how psychiatrists work. They gain your trust and destroy your secrets. My parents think that there's something

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It'll be two weeks since I asked my girlfriend out. Starting September 20th 2013. I haven't confessed everything to her. I want her to know that I want to kill myself. Only because I don't want to hurt her if I do it. I don't want her to feel guilt over my death. I'll let her know. But how will it work out. What will happen between us. Will we be closer and farther apart. Fear runs through my body and hopefully the best will happen. She has accepted me for being a brony and the fact that I'm

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12 days. Its been twelve days since I've had alcohol. Lets reset that motherfucking clock. Tonight was just shit. 9:24 pm. Wednesday night. Where I live. Its dark outside. I should be in bed. If you were a teacher you would assume that even that one kid in your class who is white and has good grades is sober. Wrong. I'm not sober. In fact even the goodie too shoes can be fucked up. I'm drinking beer right now. My parents ran out of vodka and luckily I didn't get a sip of that shit. But I still

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My name is Cameron. I'm fourteen years old and I want to put this blog up for someone important in my life. Everyone who's read my stories already know that But that's not the main reason why i'm putting up this blog. You see. I met this guy on fimfiction and his username was 'rarityxspike'. He read one of my stories and read the authors note where it said "I want to kill myself". The truth is I really did. The night I first met him. I swallowed a bottle of painkillers and was going to finally

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