My parents think I'm lazy. That I won't ever make anything of myself, and never will because I "sit around on my ass" all day reading. What they don't understand, is that with out my nose in a book, I would still be lying on the floor bleeding. My parents think I'm selfish. That I don't give a shit about anyone else's opinion of me, or about how my little brother and sister look up to me too. What they don't understand is that I became clean just to make sure that cutting is something Olivia and Emmett would never do. My parents think I'm weak. That since I "have no reason to be depressed" I just made it up for attention. And by letting myself believe I fell into the never ending pit of depression, I just gave up. What they don't know is that I spend night after night gasping for breath battling the nightmares, and grasping for that one final shred of light that may just get me through the dark, and fill me with hope. My parents think that since they gave me life, they have a right to say that I'm wrong. But I know that the only right they will ever have, is the right to shut the fuck up.