It is 389 days until I’m eighteen, and I’m pretty sure I’m leaving town the minute midnight strikes.
I don’t know what else to do here in my life, I haven’t been allowed to grow up. I’m mad at my parents for that, mad at them that they’ve babied me for so long that I don’t know how to be grown-up, I don’t know how to take care of myself. They’ve crippled me, essentially… Is it so weird that it breaks my heart at the same time? I never wanted this, I would’ve loved to stay in the warm, loving family we pretend to be - and sometimes, we actually are. So, I’m leaving the minute I can. I’m sadder for my mom, because at least she’s trying to fix everything now.
I feel sad. I want to tell her, Stop trying. It’s all gone to the dogs, stop trying.
So! I have three places lined up at the moment: Chicago, San Francisco, or San Diego. The first one is where I’ve got a couple of friends and family that would take me in until I got up and running. The last one is where my brother will be in the spring, and he’s offered to take me in, but he’ll be a struggling, starving college student. Wouldn’t be fair, you know? And San Francisco is where my best friend’s brother is living, and we’ve been drawing out the plans that we’ll save up for the next year from jobs and birthday/christmas money and starving to keep our lunch money and what not - so that we can move out there as roommates and so on.
Any suggestions? Chicago has snow, but I do so love the hills of San Francisco. San Diego? … Maybe. I wouldn’t want to put the strain on my brother, so that’ll be my last option.
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