Dear Die-ary...

Well, that picture kinda balances the title.

But I doooooooo, I dooooooooooo want to kill them. Them're my Mom and Dad. They are just salty pains in my ass, because they want to be. They're always there, f*cking up any situation.

My Mom, the pessimist. The most annoying person in the world. Moans about how she never get's any "'elp," but rejects it when someone offers to. Likes to pull hair (especially when it's long, like mine). Hates her mother, but can't resist talking to her everyday. Likes to get high on lounging by the TV, and snapping at how fat and stupid we are. Likes to cry everyday. Says (and acts on this) that she doesn't want to help anyone. Voice like an old car going around a roundabout. For all eternity. Likes to provoke people to start a fight.

My Dad, the sadist, and possibly paedophile. Likes to 'ambush' people, especially me. Likes to act like your friend, and attack you, then explain that he doesn't like hurting or arguing with you. Has done pretty much all of the martial arts there are. (And got somewhere with them.) Has fake, not false, teeth made of china, so they are sharper than normal teeth. Likes to bite the person he's attacking. Also likes throwing a few karate/judo/whatever moves on you. Is aware that his weakness lies between his legs. Likes to push the victim to the ground and lying on them, or grabbing them and holding them close to him, and when he does this to me I can feel his ...thing... by my butt. Likes to provoke people. Likes to fight whenever, wherever.

That's a small summary of them both. As you can see, Mom is the fight-starter most of the time. Dad is the defender. People like them should be killed anyway, so if I kill them people should not care. If someone kills a massmurderer, are they in the wrong? Uh, I'm not saying my parents are massmurderers, to my knowledge, but you know what I mean.

But both think I'm crazy.

Not good crazy as people say I am, but mental assylum crazy. They think I should be locked away. They think that because I retaliate, and can snap at anything which is slightly annoying, they think I should be classed as criminally insane. So they use the old tudor methods of getting rid of insanity; by beating it out of them.

My Dad also thinks I am extremely paranoid, because I always want to be alone. He thinks I'm looking at p*rn or something. I just want to be alone, I explain in truth, for the simple reason that I always want to be left alone, in solitary, alone, alone, alone. He still looks at me strangely and goes on about how I MUST be paranoid about him finding me doing something I shouldn't, like people never want to be left alone ever. To him, being alone is something NO ONE in the whole wide world would ever want to be.

What a jerk.

What a bloody, motherf*cking jerk.

And my mother!! Always saying how BOYS look at me. When she says that, I say that no one should look at me (their eyes are unworthy). Then she would go on to say that boys looking at me is a good thing, "Isn't it?" "No," I would reply, but I don't want to discuss with the elderly about the term 'as*xual' and how it's linked towards me. If ya get what I mean... The closest I've ever got to that is, "I'm not interested in them." But that also sounds wrong, in so many ways, and I don't want them to think that. She also thinks that I like makeup, and clothes. And when she takes me to buy some new clothes, she doesn't understand why I seem to dislike it intensely somehow... Just SOMEHOW. Like a cartoon character, I have, if you like, 'trademark clothing'. I wear the same thing every single day. Except for underwear, of course... in some cases I don't even change that. I like my trademark clothing. I don't know why people like to dress like everyone else. The parents also think that I have the same interest in music as everyone else. I do NOT, I am an individual. And always will be, in more ways than one.

They think they understand me, but they don't. They don't know me at all. In no ways do they know me. Well, they might know that my real name is Emily, my nickname is Bob, I have a hamster (but they don't know his name's Penfold), I strangely wear similar clothing every day, and I like Invader Zim. That's pretty much it. They don't even know my age or DOB, my allergies, my medical conditions (I have to admit, I have a lot so it's quite hard to remember all of them), or anything else which makes me me. To them, I'm sort of like... someone who 'sells their body', in a way.
"So what's your name, baby?"
"Lucy *giggles*."
"Good enough. Let's get down to business..."
But in my case, they know a few details about me, and suddenly they have the right to dismantle my limbs and decapitate my torso and rip out my brain in any way they want.

A few people have told me I should consult some child-caring service, like the NSPCC or ChildLine, or whatever, but I can't. I'm not allowed to. Heh. Sounds stupidly ironic, but I'm not even allowed to think about telling people about what they do to me. In fact, I once got beat up pretty badly for posting, "Welcome to the house of fun," last month. Was it last month? Who cares. Point is, that's really another reason to be 'paranoid'. They don't ground me (I don't go anywhere), or take things away... usually... just slap me around a bit. A bit? Slap? That's not even close to it. I'm also pretty sure that hitting children is illegal in this country. Especially being hit with an object, which happens a lot. I was thwacked (nice word, no?) with a drumstick today, across my ass.

In conclusion, I want to kill them before anything bad happens. Or, I want them to kill me.

Personally, I think the second choice would be the best.