My whole story posted below!~
Wet. Dreary. Cold. The only words to describe driving out of our driveway and into the wet, dreary, and cold world. Mom didn't want to leave the house. You know that? You know what you did? Because she's crying and sobbing. Locking herself in her room because you couldn't get over a stupid Instagram post that said crappy stuff about you. You had to pull that trigger. That one motion...that one flick of your finger changed everything. You know? You know what a bullet can do? Of course you know, you wouldn't've tried if you didn't know. It scars you. It rips organs and stops hearts and makes you bleed, bleed, bleed. Or in this case: cry, cry, cry. We sobbed so hard, it hurt. You made us hurt. You hurt us far worse than a gun could ever. And now we have to drive all the way over to that funeral. For you. You. It's always about you. It always was. And now we can't do anything about your desicions. I hope you learn in hell. And I hope you burn.
