Dying

I'm holding it in. I'm holding it in like a kid holding in his pee during squats. I'm holding it in like a kid holding in his fart during lunges. I'm holding it in like a kid holding in his poop during a tennis match.

I feel like I'm about to go crazy. In psychology, it said kids often grow up to have the same temperant of their parents, a nature thing. I guess that true, but I depise the thought of having my mom's personality. I do notice that I have her OCD-like temperant. But lately, I've been trying extremely hard to hold it in, that anger. Like if I even let myself go even a little tiny bit, it'd be like pooping myself. And I believe there is progress in terms of how often I show/express my pissed-offness. But I feel like I'm suffocating. Like my church, my friends, my school, and more so my family is leaking carbon monoxide into my lungs. Maybe that's why I like to stay later after work is over.

I wish my boss would adopt me. I stood next to her, so torn at the thought that I couldn't talk to her more. At that moment I wanted to yell, "I love you, Joanna! Can you adopt me?" God, I love her! I'm not sure why. And I'm not sure why I'm so terrible to my own mother. I think we're both suffocating each other, but she doesn't know it. Each uttererance of her dry raspy voice is each brain cell that commits suicide in my brain. Each of my rude remarks is another migraine to her infinity of problems. She doesn't know it, but I'm killing her. She doesn't know it but I'm dying.