I had a glass of wine. One. I called my grandmother to get her to pick up my little brother and his two friens, more because I didn't want to than because I had anything to drink. She blew up at me, asking me if I was on drugs and that I haven't been myself in two years. My Mom is on her honeymoon with her new husband and doesn't need this drama, I let her down. I'm supposed to be taking care of my little brother so she'll pay my rent. I'm worthless. This makes me hate myself so much, and I wish I could take all of the sleeping pills in the cabinet so I wouldn't have to hate myself. It makes me even more disgusted to think that, because I know how it would break my Mom's heart. I think I'll just drink and cut so I can't feel anymore.
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