done

Have you ever been so frustrated, you can't even cry? Each sob that tries to come out of your throat gets caught. You want to bang your fists into the wall, anything to let it out, but you don't. You just sit here and type your blog. That's what I do anyways. I hate them. Hate is such a plain word though. I loathe them. There is nothing more I'd like to do then to just scream in their face until no sound would come. I would truly love that. Why do they think they can just treat her this way, my own mother. She's my best friend. I see the hurt in her eyes. Every time they speak there is a twinge of a knife that just keeps shoving deeper beneath her skin. I loathe it. When they speak each hair on the back of my neck stands up, as if I'm plunging down an ere roller coaster. Their rhythmic gashes of hate whipping at us from each direction, hitting a nerve every time that makes me want to break. I don't even know how to end this blog. All I know is I can't even write anymore.