I've been laying here for ten minutes. My body feels heavy but my head feels like a cloud. My thoughts don't feel like my own, just drifts that are apart of a bigger cluster. I hate going to bed, my imagination gets the chance to run wild. Sometimes it feels too real, the monsters and mayhem that my brain cooks up in my nightmares to force me awake. Hell, I wish those nightmares did wake me up, it would spare me the feeling of fear and terror as every second passed that leads up to my eventual death. Flesh being cooked with fire as I burn alive, the loads of teeth that tear into my body with every wrenching bite of sharks, the shaking of my nerves as I feel the cool touch of a metal gun barrel against the back of my head. Death is death, in the end, your soul is ripped from your body before it's meant to be. Surely these are the thoughts of a disturbed mental patient, I'm just missing a straight jacket and a padded room. I'm not saying that I need to be institutionalized, I'm just saying I'm not normal. I like to think of that as a good thing thing because it lets me know I'm different than the average person. I'm 18 years old, a senior in high school. I live in a small house with my younger sister and my Dad. I used to have a Mom but she left us years ago because she felt she was wasting her life stuck as a housewife all day. All of us hate her for it but what can you do. My Dad is always at work, I don't think he realizes how hard it is for a teenager to take care of someone when they barely understand themselves.