Well, I got one side cleared up. I can feel some sense of relief in myself, at least. Crying probably does relieve you but sometimes it renders another sensitive nerve.
Oh boy.
Other than that, life's pretty shitty at home. There are things that I won't tell them, because silence is golden. And gold is what I'm craving for. But really, there are no more mutual love with whoever resides in this forsaken house. I don't really care where I stay. Condo, so what? Big deal, families who live in flats are probably more bonded and flats may be small, but they're probably homelier than this fucking rat hole with assholes who whine all fucking day.
And I'm probably no exception. But jeez.
I hate people who freak out over the littlest things, because this portrays how little your capability standards can differ from mine. I'm different, and if you want to whine about it, go ahead. I'm childish but at least I'm not as old as you are, working with probably hardly anything in the bank (I state this with you mother's agreement, very well). I whine, you whine. You curse, I curse.
Life is hard, but fucking cry and fucking cope. Period.