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Crammy's Blog
Cramuccino takes on Blogging!
I hate this feeling so much.
Alright, I'll make this quick.

Just a few minutes ago, I was nagged at. Yeah, I know. It's a childish thing to be upholding as a "problem", but I just can't stand the feeling where you're being nagged at, and you're just there. Frozen. Unable to speak. If I ever try to speak out against the act, I'd surely be in a world of depression, hatred, agony... need I go on?

I try to write about how I feel, but I end up feeling more and more emotional, I start to cry. Not the happy crying, obviously. I could never finish more than 3 sentences without crying halfway through. Making a Journal Entry about this experience almost makes me cry as well.

I'm a good person. I was disciplined well. I'm not spoiled. I'm not too sheltered, I have my freedom as well. But when you know you do something wrong, you admit to it as honest as you possibly can, but to no avail. My parents never hear me out when it comes to my psychological and mental matters. Being nagged is one thing that breaks down a piece of me. A big piece.

It brings me down to a whole different level of depression. I'd experience several "symptoms", as I may call it. First, I have the feeling I want to stay home from school. But whenever I ask my parents if I could stay home, I get nagged at even more. I'm irresponsible, but loyal. They know that. I ponder on why won't they let me have my way for a chance. Second, I enter a rebellious stage. I do what they tell me I shouldn't do. I skip meals. I'm not allowed to stay up past 10:00 pm on schooldays. I avoid talking to anyone, even my friends (in real life, at least.) And lastly, I have thoughts of committing suicide. I don't get these visions often, but what I really am getting at is how people would feel like without me as a person having to exist. I wonder how my friends would be like, online and out, without me in their lives.

I try to express how I feel in works of art and writing, but I never really show them. I hide them. If someone were to find them, I'm sure they would not understand. An artist's mind is that of a an ant. The hard work and labor is almost never acknowledged. How I wonder how my parents would react if they somehow found out I'd actually feel. It would make my life a lot less stressful than it is nowadays, I wish. I feel very uneasy just typing this down, let alone thinking about it.

I'd like to year thoughts about this subject. It could possibly give me a sense of condolence and maybe even psychological therapy.

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