Welcome to Gaia! ::

Take your time.
Its better to wait until your ready then to force yourself to say something too soon and be upset or uncomfortable about it.

When your ready, I'll listen.

*Stays tuned.*

Blame it on my parents, my rearing, or my genes. It doesn't matter. The point is, I screw up. No one is blamed but me.

I spent thirteen years waiting for the day that I could walk out of my house and never come back. Legally. I spent ten years totally convinced I would never do drugs, legal or otherwise. I spent three years thinking lola, the daycare lady, was my mom.

But anyway, after year thirteen. I ran away. Once to get away. I went across the railroad tracks, east. Headed for...who knows. Just out of the city. I was caught. Acres and acres of no cover, and half the city looking for you. It happens.

A second time, for a different reason. They found my blades. They saw my scars. They recognized my cry for help, but went the wrong way in trying to help me. They told my parents. They knew I would run. They knew I had to run. I went west this time, towards the rich people. Towards the farm, and towards...California, I suppose.

A third time. Not to get away. Well, yes, for that. But also to keep myself from dying again. I went north. I made it to the next state, I made it through three cities. I was almost to whatever state is north of new Mexico. An unfortunate call at the wrong time, with me in the wrong place again.

But...before that third time, I fell into a series of bad decisions. I was overdosing and smoking more often than I usually did. I picked up sharp pieces of glass and safety pins on the way to school. The counselor knew what I was trying to do. He tried talking to me. I wouldn't listen. I never listened to anyone, and I barely talked. I didn't eat. My parents refused to get me a psychiatrist. It would "look bad for the family. Think about your father's business. He has a boss you know."

Like I give a damn. If he gets fired it's his fault, not mine. Things got a little better eventually. They locked up the medicine cabinet. They let me stay inside, away from other people at lunch so I wouldn't get in any fights. And I met Nami.

Nami made me eat. She forced me to eat. I loved her. So I did, and sometimes I didn't throw it all up, because she said that was cheating. She said i can't die until I'm 71. I listened. I agreed. She saved me because I'm her friend. I let her save me because I love her still. She helped me come out to my sister. She helped me when rumours spread about me. She will probably help me come out to my parents.

So, there you go. I still smoke, but I only drink once a week. I even eat at least a sandwich every day. Nami says it's progress, but that I could do better.

So...it's progress.

*sings a whole new world*

Sorry. Just watched Alladin. Bad timing, I guess. lol

Sure, it's nice. It just stuck itself inside my head though.