You.

I wish I could tell you every word that goes through my head, but the truth is you don't want to listen. Even when you hear them you don't listen to them. I am a loud and proud young women and despite popular belief, I do mean the things I say.

I'm tired of repeating myself. I'm tired of feeling like an object of whom can be tossed and turned however you please. I'm not a plank of wood, I am a person. And when I'm upset I don't want to be tickled, I want to be caudilled. I want to feel love when the cosplayers get on my last nerve and I want you to support me even if what I say may seem out landish and stupid.

I want the zombie game disc to be out of my ps3, and you to ask before you change the song or radio station. I want you to feel like there's a chance you'll lose me because you've never changed anything before.

I cry and cry and cry... and you make me feel like dirt for starting the argument in the first place. I want to snuggle without fear of being jarred awake by tickling... and I want to trust you with that physical aspect. I want you not to pda in front of my parents or friends because it obviously makes me more uncomfortable then them.

I want to be held when I cry, even if it means your tears in my hair, and I don't ever want to hear just a minute unless you are PHYSICALLY (not virtually) tied to something. I want you to believe that I'm in pain when I'm in pain instead of brushing it off.

I do love you but if I end this rant on a sweet note, I truly believe you won't listen.... so when a girl starts flirting with you and ask you to call her pretty, be aware that right now I will pull her uterus out with my bare hands.

The rabbit won't stop digging, and your cat smells awful. Come make them stop and hold me.

Used. And retarded.

If you knew anything about me, you would know that I think about cosplay more than the healthy human limit. Cosplaying is creating a costume based off of an anime character and then modeling this costume at some event.

It means so much to me... to the point that I allow others to step all over me until I feel like I mean nothing. They use my home as a place they go to when their parents are sick of looking at them... they use it as a place to sleep with other boys/girls... they use my check book for loans and gas for me to drive them repetitively yo their homes... they use my parents for the beautiful work they can do, and eat off our plates without thank yous--- getting to the point that they just expect it.

Believe it or not, all of these are not the reason I'm blog ranting. The reason I am is because now my costume-- my reason for giving all you selfish bastards these things-- is suffering. And you people, even though I helped you out and shed blood and tears and my fucking time on your costumes to try to give you the same high that I feel in my wonderful costumes to try to convert just one of you to do this crazy thing again.... are all suddenly busy.

Now that you have to buy your own meals or you can't sneak behind my back and hook up, now that I have nothing left to give you because you pulled out pieces of my soul and strung it up on the cross like it was Christmas ornaments... now that I snap and cry and am so overwhelmed that my relationship with my boyfriend and my mom are taking the brunt of it... youre no where to be found.

Or when you do come over you sit around doing nothing, visiting like were in fucking high school, using me as a socializing gathering instead of a friend.

I'm here to tell you, that when I ask you to do something, don't respond back that its not your costume, or you're too tired, or you'd rather have a dick up your ass; remember everything I have done for you... the amount that I have cried for your costumes and how great they are because I would not let you take the easy way out.

Grow the fuck up. And write your dumb blog entries because I already posted all the pictures you would ever need.