Crazy Beautiful
Moving
Moving...
A form of escape for some. A way to forget all the bad in the past and make a new start. Reinvent themselves, if they feel that its necessary. But for others, all they need is a new place to show people how they really are. To be themselves, try new things they've never done before.
For myself, its an escape route. A way to make myself disappear, so no one will ever be bothered with me again. Not my mother, or anyone else. The idea of us moving was actually my mother's idea. She said too many people knew about my... Conditions. And that it wasn't doing our reputation, excuse me, her reputation any good. I didn't mind at all though. I was more than happy to move. I wanted to get away from all the whispers, and stares. The nervous glances. I hated it. I use to have friends. But they left me, just like everyone else. I'm too weird for them. I'm a freak, a mistake. I'm... crazy.
I'm... Alone.
But that's fine. I think its best that I stay alone. Although I don't like being alone, its better for me. For everyone. Because then I won't get hurt when people find out and leave. And no one will have to waste their time with me.
Sometimes I think it'd be easier if I'd just stop taking my pills. And let all the sicknesses take over me. So they'll put me away and no one will have to bother with me anymore. But then I'll have to go and sit in one of those uncomfortable leather chairs and talk to a man or woman whose glasses seem to be too big for their face and who have a bad habit of clicking their tongues.
I hate that sound.
They always stare at you like you're some kind of disease. Like they can't understand a word you're saying. Aren't they suppose to understand? Isn't that their job? What they go to school for. Or do they just send you there so that maybe they'll talk you out of your sickness. That's all they do is make you talk so your mouth gets dry and you lose your voice. The same thing every week. And none of it ever helps.
That's why I stopped going. And mom didn't want to pay for it anymore.
So they put me on pills.
They make me sleepy, all the time. But they stop the pain and dread...
Those loud voices that keep me awake at night, those horrible scenes I see in my sleep.
your fault gone your fault gone he's gone...
They keep the darkness out, while still bringing it in some how.
And most of all; they keep me sane.
Or at least they make it seem as though I am.
A form of escape for some. A way to forget all the bad in the past and make a new start. Reinvent themselves, if they feel that its necessary. But for others, all they need is a new place to show people how they really are. To be themselves, try new things they've never done before.
For myself, its an escape route. A way to make myself disappear, so no one will ever be bothered with me again. Not my mother, or anyone else. The idea of us moving was actually my mother's idea. She said too many people knew about my... Conditions. And that it wasn't doing our reputation, excuse me, her reputation any good. I didn't mind at all though. I was more than happy to move. I wanted to get away from all the whispers, and stares. The nervous glances. I hated it. I use to have friends. But they left me, just like everyone else. I'm too weird for them. I'm a freak, a mistake. I'm... crazy.
I'm... Alone.
But that's fine. I think its best that I stay alone. Although I don't like being alone, its better for me. For everyone. Because then I won't get hurt when people find out and leave. And no one will have to waste their time with me.
Sometimes I think it'd be easier if I'd just stop taking my pills. And let all the sicknesses take over me. So they'll put me away and no one will have to bother with me anymore. But then I'll have to go and sit in one of those uncomfortable leather chairs and talk to a man or woman whose glasses seem to be too big for their face and who have a bad habit of clicking their tongues.
I hate that sound.
They always stare at you like you're some kind of disease. Like they can't understand a word you're saying. Aren't they suppose to understand? Isn't that their job? What they go to school for. Or do they just send you there so that maybe they'll talk you out of your sickness. That's all they do is make you talk so your mouth gets dry and you lose your voice. The same thing every week. And none of it ever helps.
That's why I stopped going. And mom didn't want to pay for it anymore.
So they put me on pills.
They make me sleepy, all the time. But they stop the pain and dread...
Those loud voices that keep me awake at night, those horrible scenes I see in my sleep.
your fault gone your fault gone he's gone...
They keep the darkness out, while still bringing it in some how.
And most of all; they keep me sane.
Or at least they make it seem as though I am.