So much so that I'd rather cry myself to sleep than stay awake because fuck knows my dreams would be more entertaining and happier than my current reality. I hatehatehate being here. All I want to do is be with Michael at his house. The only reason why I come home at all is to see my cat, and if he could come with me to Michael's, I'd live there instead of here.
My mother and I have never seen eye to eye since I was 17, but everything about being home with her these days just makes me want to curl into foetal position. The only time she ever talks to me is when she wants something from me. I don't even care anymore. I just want out.
I want to be happy, and this house is dragging me down. I feel so fucking depressed here, it's bullshit.