For four long days last week, I remained in bed as my father visited me to dispense pills. So many pills, in fact, that it seemed like more time had passed, and finally, after being given what seemed like one hundred pills since this whole thing began, I crawled out of bed with the utmost effort and stumbled to my computer. My vision swam, but I managed to turn it on, and one I had logged on, I saw something strange. It was not Monday at all! Not the day I post these blogs, but instead Thursday, and less time had passed than I thought!

When I managed to make my way downstairs, I confronted my father in the kitchen. He was crushing some of those pills he had been bringing me, taking them from an enormous jar piled full of the things, the label proudly proclaiming 'HORSE TRANQUILIZERS'! The powder, he was tipping into my favourite mug (it's black and has a picture of a sad, blue face, and the caption 'Oh, the hurt'), ready to give to me!

"Father! What are you doing? This is not medication you're dispensing to me, but instead a potent pill used to subdue horses! And you have been bringing me so many in a day it is a wonder I am not dead!" I cried, though it came out as a slur.

"Yes, son!" my father cried back, for he had understood me. "I have been trying to kill you, because I'm tired of your shitty bleakness infesting this house, driven into all the darkness corners and fastened to the very foundations of this place! And now that you know the truth, you must did!"

On his last words, my father drew an enormous knife from the rack behind him on the counter and thrust it at me. My usual nimbleness gone, I groaned as it sliced across my chest and the top of my stomach, black exploding out as blood that sprayed all over the kitchen floor. At the sight, my father gasped and dropped the knife.

"You messy shit!" he shouted at me. "Clean that up and then fuck off to your bedroom, you ungrateful little bastard!" He thrust a tea-towel at me to mop up the mess, as I continued to bleed and sway in the doorway. Then he pushed passed me and walked off muttering, "I feed you, clothe you, and you repay me by getting your disgusting fluids all over my house."

When I had cleaned up, dropping in and out of semiconsciousness in delirium, I picked up the knife to kill myself. However, when I pushed it at my body, it merely left a red mark; the drop had caused it to blunt.

Will this pain ever end?

-Misunderstood
(MNA August 18th 2008)