We will help you get your mom off drugs!

Okay I hear people saying this and my friends tell me they hear people saying it.
And a lot of the time it’s people who I have no idea who they are.
They say I’m a “drug addict”.
Like, “Oh my god that *my first and las name here* is such a drug addict.”
Okay so heres why I think they think I’m on drugs and crack and that shit:
1. I have under eye circles and my eyes are small, so they don’t open that wide. I look tired a lot because I have really bad insomnia. 0-4 hours of sleep.
2. I’m really hyper I guess. I have A.D.H.D. So yeah sorry I don’t take the monkey dope. I hide it in my mouth and spit it out(lol hopefully my mom doesn’t see this). Made me think suicidal thoughts…..not fun when you’re always thinking, “Oh I could hang myself from there.”

Okay that’s all that I can think of.
Is there any other reason that someone would think one is on drugs? LIke clothing or what they eat or how they do their hair or where they go or something like that?
How can I get them to stop saying this bull?
Like what can I do?
=D
Sorry, I likes smileys.
Yeah it’s Ritalin.
I think?
I don’t know, I’ve never really paid that much attention to it.
My mom’s just like. “Here take this it will calm you down.”

I am planning on switching my network in a year or 2 to the network for the iphone. is it worth getting? I am a girl who loves the computer (I’m pretty tho so i am not addicted!) so what do u think of the iphone? is it worth buying? i know people say “get the voyager!” and all that. my brother and mother have the voyager and the iphone is way better. i know the voyager by heart, i even have an itouch and i already love it. what do u think?

Okay I hear people saying this and my friends tell me they hear people saying it.
And a lot of the time it’s people who I have no idea who they are.
They say I’m a “drug addict”.
Like, “Oh my god that *my first and las name here* is such a drug addict.”
Okay so heres why I think they think I’m on drugs and crack and that shit:
1. I have under eye circles and my eyes are small, so they don’t open that wide. I look tired a lot because I have really bad insomnia. 0-4 hours of sleep.
2. I’m really hyper I guess. I have A.D.H.D. So yeah sorry I don’t take the monkey dope. I hide it in my mouth and spit it out(lol hopefully my mom doesn’t see this). Made me think suicidal thoughts…..not fun when you’re always thinking, “Oh I could hang myself from there.”

Okay that’s all that I can think of.
Is there any other reason that someone would think one is on drugs? LIke clothing or what they eat or how they do their hair or where they go or something like that?
How can I get them to stop saying this bull?
Like what can I do?
=D
Sorry, I likes smileys.
Yeah it’s Ritalin.
I think?
I don’t know, I’ve never really paid that much attention to it.
My mom’s just like. “Here take this it will calm you down.”

I feel like each individual paragraph is okay, but the transition between them seems a little scetchy. Could you tell me if it flows or not?

After returning to the waiting area Jacob immediately headed for the front office. He needed to find a way home, but dreaded the means by which he would achieve one. The hospital wouldn’t provide a ride, they could call a cab but what money did he have? Walking was out of the question, he was miles from home. And his mother was sure as hell not going to take him. That left one solution. His father.
Jacob cringed at the thought of being alone with his father. Too many times Isaac had taken advantage of situations like that. Too many times Isaac had hurt Jacob when they were alone. Not once had he failed to capitalize on a chance to abuse him. Whether it be verbal or physical, Jacob was always the victim of an alcoholic rage when left alone with Isaac. Hell, sometimes his father wouldn’t even be drunk. Sometimes Jacob thought that Isaac hit him just to have the feeling of superiority over his son. Perhaps he was so weak, so ineffectual, against his sinful cravings on the inside that he felt the need to compensate with physical force on the outside. Perhaps that was what drove him to such great lengths to beat and abuse his son.
His father was a self minded alcoholic fool. So pathetic and worthless that he constantly bounced from job to job, as he was fired from payrolls again and again. His laziness contributed to poor money, his poor money contributed stress, and his stress contributed to alcoholism. Every night Jacob’s parents would drink whisky and wine until they either passed out or fought till one or the other left the house in a drunken fury. Every night accusations of infidelity slammed between the two in tremulous shouts that would shake the house. Every night Jacob would crawl into bed, desperate for sleep, only to be denied it by the screaming voices downstairs. He would pull the pillow around his ears, squeezing tight, and press his face to the mattress underneath the covers. But that never helped, and eventually Jacob would cry from the torment.
Due to the pressure of paying bills without money, the stress of dealing with his wife every night, and the weakness he had to alcohol, Isaac’s pride had sunken to the bottom of the pit. The only way he ever grasped a sliver of self esteem again, was through dominance over Jacob. With every scream, with every shove, with every punch Isaac felt the sense of superiority. He needed the rush, needed the excitement of being the victor. He needed that feeling of ascendancy in order to keep going. Alcohol only took away a little of the stress, but it didn’t take away his thirst for violence. And that’s when he would attack Jacob like a mindless beast, leaping from the barstool onto him and spraying whisky across the kitchen.
Nothing could compare to those few nights when Jacob was forced to be alone with his father though. Fewer witnesses meant worse physical torture. With no risk in anyone seeing, what was the need to stop? It would go on and on until Isaac’s hunger for violence had been quenched. But with an insatiable need for brutality, it wasn’t easily quenchable.

My little brother is 14 and i am 17 and i am worried he may have a eating disorder. Because lately i have noticed him binge eating and then he goes to the bathroom and it sounds like he is puking. My brother is not big he is around 5’10 or 5’11 and my mom told me he weighs around 125lbs. But the other day my mom and my brother and i went swimming and you could see his ribs and my mom asked him about it and he started to sob so bad. My mom i think is in denial about this, and i try and help my little brother but i am so scared and i am unsure what to do to help him. Any advice?

My mother-in-law has had 2 face lifts now. One when she was 49 and again 9 years later. She looks very pretty. Better than before but I know people can get addicted to it.

BACKGROUND:
-Middle aged, white male
-Little formal education (High School dropout)
-Production Labourer
-Lower than average IQ (85-90)
-Twice Divorded, currently in a common law relationship
-Convicted Felon
-Alcoholic Mother
-Unknown Father
-Suffered physical abuse as a child
-Impoverished Upbringing

TRAITS
-Very Aggressive
-Very Assertive
-Can be belligerent
-Prone to violence
-Doesn’t get along well with others
-Displays signs of low self-esteem
-Abuses alcohol and illicit drugs
-Chain Smoker
-Obese
-Routinely engages in arguments
-Can be excessively critical, and verbally abusive
-Often initiates domestic violence
-Cruel and sadistic
-Self-centred, has no concerns for the needs of others
-Envious of authority figures
-Dictatorial and tyrancical toward all underneath him
-Signs of accute alcoholism
-Shows little concern for personal hygene
-No signs of altruism, seen by others as selfish
-Often loud, aggressive, antagonistic, and brutal
PS This is a ficticious personality profile I made up. I do not know any individuals who could represent this description. By the way, does the term anti-social come to mind?

She’s content with being the side kick.
In fact
she strives to be one.
Ms. Sophistication, Ms. Cigarette.
The pretty face and black dress.
She wants to be the mysterious figure next to Mr. Perfect.
Smiling at the passerbys through dark lipstick,
proud to share the air he expels.
She almost gulps down his oxygen,
hanging on to the ends of his sentences with clawed manicures.
She swallows his words and cigarette smoke with pride.
Her sour endorphines and sarcastic banter fight to seduce his God ears,
only to be rejected by his slick smile.
His smooth voice pouring out dissapiontment like Vodka.
Dammit.

He has wandering eyes and ready hands,
his whispers soaked with dead amends.
He wonders why he chose her,
and she knows this.
She understands.
She’s close to perfect,
eager to please his demands.

But he hates to be around her.
Her voice reminding him of butter sizzling on a hot frying pan, t
he soundtrack to his angry mothers rants when he was 8.
Now his girlfriends voice sizzles and pops with support, hissing for his affection.
Her touch was eggs cracking on to the stove.
Breaking.
Her hands holding his reminding him of empty egg shells,
her rotten kiss a scrambled yolk.
His mom used to make eggs, make them early weekend mornings and lecture him about school. Her salty lips reminding him of this.
She couldn’t fathom these memories.
She was a middle class beauty,
raised on French toast
and blueberries.

My mother has recently qualified and works with children and families. She gets all outraged about drug addicts neglecting their children when she used to beat us all around the house for reasons such as not eating our dinner or making too much noise. I won’t bore you with all the details of the rest of it.

She isn’t a changed character either. She won’t acknowledge the things she used to do.

I have known plenty of people raised in “Traditional” households with both the mom and dad that were drug addicts and convicts and plenty of people raised by single parents and gay parents or other “Un Traditional” households that turned out to be very bright and successful!
Thank you answers4u! Also dont forget. Im gay and my parents were straight! My dad went to a catholic school where the teachers were nuns. And he most certainly didnt grow up to become a nun!!

My husband has a 7 year old daughter. Her mom, and my husband were never married. However he lets the mom do what ever she wants in concerns to his family, and our family. For instance, she calls his parents all the time to see if they can pick up her daughter, or watch her. I feel like she should call us, and then my husband can call his parents if he wishes. She just recently called his parents and asked them for money so the daughter can go Christmas shopping. Am I the only one who finds this over the line? I told my husband he needs to say something, but he doesn’t want to start a fight at christmas. So nothing will be said ever.
They have never had a “set” visitation. Just whenever is convenient for the mom. Which makes me ANGRY. so my husband is too afraid to say anything fearing she might keep his daughter away. So he allows her to make comments like, “We’ll figure something out” concerning how we celebrate Christmas, IN MY HOUSE! She does not get any say about my house. He lets her do anything she wants, while at the same time yelling at me for, one time, calling his parents and asking if they could watch our 1 year old so I could go to work, while he was on a drunken binge and I couldn’t find him. (he has since then quit drinking). She seriously calls his parents ALL the time asking favors, she asked my husband to miss a day of work and go testify on her behalf for custody of her other child. He said yes (he ended up not being needed, but HE SAID YES). She doesn’t just call, she calls and talks forever to him. I’m talking like at least 10 minutes every time. And he never says anything to her about the things she does.
I’ve said things to him over and over and over and the only thing that has ever been said to her, was when I called her and had a talk to her about calling his mom and telling her things that she didn’t like that happened at our house while the daughter was there, (I’m talking like she thought she stayed up too late, and that she had a friend stay the night).
I feel like he is still in love with her and would rather be with her. Am I stupid for thinking this?
I don’t know what else I can possibly do about this. any advice would be great.
What bothers me, is the fact that his parents do not want her calling them all the time, but he won’t say anything to her. I understand that he wants to be amicable because of his daughter, but when it turns our lives, and OUR daughter’s life upside down, I do have a say it in, and a problem with it. I have also bent over backwards for her. She should never be calling his parents and asking for money. My problem is that he says he has a problem with it but doesn’t do anything, which tells me that she can do anything she wants.
the phone calls consist of everything. What is going on in her life, what she is doing this weekend, it will be about 2 min. of child related things then… He pays regular child support and is not behind. i don’t really think I think he’s in love with her, but sometimes it feels like it. Just the way he treats us.
Thank you Sue D and DJ for understanding what I was trying to say.
It’s not even close to being about keeping the grandparents away, but about setting boundries. I don’t think I’m a bad person, or an insecure person for this.
To Kitty: just one thing, he was not responsible enough to have our DAUGHTER cared for while he went out drinking. He just left. Didn’t tell me he was leaving, and never came home. I was stuck in the morning trying to figure out what to do so I could go to work.
Again I understand that he is trying to be amicable, however I feel like when his parents tell him that they wish she wouldn’t call them all the time, that he should say something to her. and by not it is telling her that is is ok.

Giant Octopus Ride:

When my real dad came for my tenth birthday
he put the blue bulb in the porch light
then told my mother we would be out late but safe.

Each year we walked at dusk
when we could slither under the side fence.

On the inside I was a colonel
who knew every funhouse shortcut
and every haunted castle scare.

I knew how to spot my house from the top of the ferris wheel;
I knew why the men stood by the carousel platform looking up;
I knew where the air would smell like cotton candy,
where it would smell like deep fried crab,
where it would smell like urine,
but this year I didn’t know where
the giant octopus ride came from.

I hated how its green metallic paint
made the other rides pale and sun bleached,
how its blazing eyes and tentacles outshined midway,
how its rock and roll soundtrack echoed throughout the park
at the expense of the folk and country songs I had memorized.

My dad’s whiskey breath reached me.

Your tall enough aren’t cha?

I don’t care.

Got a sawbuck if you don’t cry or throw up.

Mom give you that money to spend on me.

Hell, you ride it and I’ll let you drink half a beer

I shook his hand hard like I was supposed to
and marched toward the ride.

I waited 20 minutes,
kicking up dirt, spitting,
tightening and retightening
my belt and shoe laces.

At ride entrance my crown was even with the stick

Not tall enough, next

I’m at the line

Gotta be above the line

Girls start giggling behind me.
I slump aside,
let tears create avenues in cheek dust.
I see dad in the distance,
leaning back hard on a plastic bench
cowboy hat cocked down
sharing a cigarette
with a high school girl
Dad! Dad!
he never looked.

When I came back he shrugged,
put the 10 in his pocket,
pointed me off to the ferris wheel.

At the ferris wheel
I planned to give 4 tickets for my own carriage
but when I saw a girl, my age, waiting for a partner
I changed my mind and handed the carney 2.

While on the ride
I spotted my dad
sipping flask whiskey and smoking.

I imagined what would of happened if he had
heard me yell.

I pictured it rough.
My dad pushing the carney to the ground,
pouring his whiskey on the control panel,
where it would spark
the dying cough of dynamos,
I envisioned the ride going black,
midway regaining glory,
country music once again echoing proudly.

I become present near the ferris wheel peak;
my voice cracks as I tell the girl
the blue porch light is my house;
I point to it, but it’s not there,
the lights from the giant octopus ride
have swallowed it with brightness,
she simply smiles and asks,
Would you like a piece of my funnel cake?

Hey, did anybody see Beloved? That movie based on the book by Toni Morrison, that had Oprah Winfrey, Danny Glover, Thandie Newton, and Kimberly Elise? Well, if you didn’t, here’s a breakdown:

Thandie played the demon phantom child that Oprah killed a long time ago. She came back and made everybody’s lives miserable. She got big and pregnant (don’t ask me how), and in the end, whenever the Church Ladies were singing outside the house to drive the evil away, she just went postal and disappeared in a puff of smoke!

What if Stacey is like that demon child? I know, a little far-fetched, but let’s just suspend disbelief for a sec, huh? I’m serious! What if, after Gigi left, their parents accidentally killed the sweet, innocent Stacey? Then, this demon, or restless spirit or whatever, came back, shook their parents’ house like in Beloved, and made an earthquake so bad that their parents fell through the cracks? Then she went and tracked down her sister (see the pattern here? Beloved had an older sister that she seemed jealous of)! And the parents probably went batty, like Oprah’s character, and are either resting in Pine Valley’s Oak Haven, or Llanview’s St. Ann’s.

She jumped her sister’s boyfriend (like Beloved did to her mother’s boyfriend), and, bang! A demon-child was conceived!

They also call “hysterical pregnancies” “PHANTOM pregnancies”!

Where are all the Church Ladies when you really, REALly need them? Guess OLTL will just have to make do with who they’ve got! Maybe Vicki, Dorian, Renee, Addie … and Evangeline can return to complete the exorcism.

Knowing OLTL writers, though … they’ll probably have Lee Ramsey resurface from hell to usurp Bo’s position again and charge the Church Ladies with “Obstuction of Justice” and “Pre-meditated Murder”!

Sky awoke to the sound of a horrible coughing. He knew that curdled up across the hall was his father, sitting in his cotton sheets on his bed. Hacking his lungs up. Smoking kills, but it’s addictive. He looked over at the clock on the left side of his bed. The bright red numbers made his eyes sting. He squinted and thought to himself, 5:00 is to early to get up, just an hour longer. But no matter how hard he tried to fall back asleep, the sound of his bedridden father kept him wide awake.
Through the darkness Sky could see the outline of the sunrise, glistening between the cracks of the blinds on his window. The birds chirping gave him a sense of comfort, as if all was going to be okay, just because they were singing their song. He decided that laying there trying to fall asleep wasn’t going to do him any good. Sky slid the covers from his bed down to his ankles and swerved around to get up and find some clothes for school. Skinny jeans or baggy jeans? He thought. He went with a black pair of skinny jeans and a band T-shirt. The Used. His next to favourite. Sky slid on his pants and shirt in the darkness and cold, when he realized that he needed a belt he flicked the switch on and the room around him lit up in a dull, boring sort of way. All of his walls were black with bright, neon pictures and posters taped to the wall. His bedspread was black, his blinds and carpet were white while the closet was lime green. Nothing too extravagant, just his style. He searched for a belt in the back of his closet. Hot pink, neon blue, white, black with yellow skulls. He couldn’t decide. What would Trent choose? Sky pondered, Trent was Sky’s boyfriend. He got picked on a lot at school because of his sexuality, but he didn’t mind. Sky stood there for a moment, thinking about Trent. Was it love? Or just a false sense of love that kept them going for the two years they had been together.
He didn’t know, but he did know he needed to find a belt. Or else he would be mooning people all day. And that wouldn’t be very good.Sky finally chose the hot pink belt to go along with the lettering on his band T-shirt. He closed his closet doors and looked at himself in the mirror. There was something missing in his outfit.It wasn’t complete just yet. He looked around the room trying to find out what it needed. Something, but what something? Sky thought to himself. He spotted a couple of his wrist bands laying on a side table beside his bed. One with rings in it, to make it look like it was full of holes. One with spikes, and one with studs. He thought the studs would be a good choice.
He then procided to the bathroom to fix his hair and puton his make-up. Surprisingly enough, it took Sky close to two hours to do his hair that morning. For some strange reason it wouln’t cooperate for him. The bathroom smelt like a mixture of candles and hairspray by the time he finished. Sky then he moved on to his make-up. He didn’t go all out like a cross dresser, just some lash blast and eye liner did the trick. As if his eyes needed to stand out more. They were already a shade of bright blue, almost a sea blue, if it wern’t for the golden outline around his eyes you would almost think he had contacts in. Sky hated the color of his eyes, he thought they made him look vulnerable. And he was. But he rarely showed his emotions to anyone accept Trent.
Skylar checked the clock once again. 7:13, shit! Sky bolted down the stairs and rounded the kitchen where is mother was standing at the window having a cigarette.
” Morning, Sky. How did you sleep? ” She wheezed at she talked, her voice was scratchy.
” Fine, mom, but I really have to go. I’ll see you later. Bye. ” Sky didn’t like talking to people very much. He was always quiet. When he was younger his parents thought that he was depressed. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t the social type. Which was funny because Trent was the complete opposite. But there wasn’t very many people to talk to these days. All the hate and flaque they both got when people found out they were dating nearly tore Sky apart. He changed. And now he was this. People have stereotypes, they call him and Trent emo. Short form for emotional. But Sky was everything but. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he was emotional, just so emotional that he hardly felt anything at all.
Sky headed down near the end of the street to the bus stop. He was the only one there. He was always the only one there. Not much different then any other day. Sky unzipped his yellow backpack and took out his IPhone, scrolling through the contacts list until he found Trent’s name.And a smirk hit his face. He clicked the msg button and started to type.

See second part on my page, same question just part 2 at the end :P

Giant Octopus Ride:

When my real dad came for my tenth birthday
he put the blue bulb in the porch light
then told my mother we would be out late but safe.

Each year we walked at dusk
when we could slither under the side fence
to save admission.

On the inside I was a colonel
who knew every funhouse shortcut
and every haunted castle scare.

I knew how to spot my house from the top of the ferris wheel;
I knew why the men stood by the carousel platform looking up;
and this year I wanted to join them.
I knew where the air would smell like cotton candy,
where it would smell like deep fried crab,
where it would smell like piss,
but this year
I didn’t know where the giant octopus ride came from.

Its green metallic paint
made familiar rides seem pale and sun bleached;
its blazing eyes and tentacles outshined midway;
its rock and roll soundtrack echoed at the expense
of the folk and country songs I had memorized.

My dad’s whisky breath bellowed,

You’re tall enough aren’t cha?
Got a sawbuck if you don’t cry or throw up.
Hell, you ride that thing and I’ll let you drink half a beer.

I shook his hand hard like I was supposed to
and marched toward the ride.

In line I waited 20 minutes,
kicking up dirt, spitting,
tightening and retightening
my belt and shoe laces.

At ride entrance I barely reached the stick.

Not tall enough,
gotta be above the line.

I cry;
girls behind me giggle,
I slump aside.

I see dad in the distance,
leaning back hard on a plastic bench,
cowboy hat cocked down,
sharing a cigarette
with a teenage girl.

Dad! Dad! Daaaaaaaad!

When I came back he shrugged,
downed my half of the beer,
then discreetly motioned me away.

At the ferris wheel
a girl my age
unwilling to ride alone
waited for a spare seat.

For a while we rode in silence;
I kept focus on my dad,
counting how many times
they shared drink and smoke.

I imagined what would of happened if he had
heard me yell.

I pictured it rough,
dad pushing the Carney,
bottle smashing the control panel,
the dying cough of dynamos,
the octopus seizing blackness,
midway regaining glory,
country music once again echoing proudly.

I became self aware and present
near the ferris wheel peak;
my voice cracks as I tell the girl
the blue porch light is my house;
I try to point to it but it’s gone,
the lights from the giant octopus ride
have swallowed it.
The girl smiles,
offering me a piece funnel cake
while the lights continue to blaze around us
like a million birthday candles.

My little brother is 14 and i am 17 and i am worried he may have a eating disorder. Because lately i have noticed him binge eating and then he goes to the bathroom and it sounds like he is puking. My brother is not big he is around 5’10 or 5’11 and my mom told me he weighs around 125lbs. But the other day my mom and my brother and i went swimming and you could see his ribs and my mom asked him about it and he started to sob so bad. My mom i think is in denial about this, and i try and help my little brother but i am so scared and i am unsure what to do to help him. Any advice?

My little brother is 14 and i am 17 and i am worried he may have a eating disorder. Because lately i have noticed him binge eating and then he goes to the bathroom and it sounds like he is puking. My brother is not big he is around 5’10 or 5’11 and my mom told me he weighs around 125lbs. But the other day my mom and my brother and i went swimming and you could see his ribs and my mom asked him about it and he started to sob so bad. My mom i think is in denial about this, and i try and help my little brother but i am so scared and i am unsure what to do to help him. Any advice?

Sky awoke to the sound of a horrible coughing. He knew that curdled up across the hall was his father, sitting in his cotton sheets on his king sized bed. Hacking his lungs up. Smoking kills, but it’s addictive. Sky looked over at the clock on the left side of his double bed. The bright red numbers made his eyes sting. He squinted and thought to himself, 5:00 is to early to get up, just an hour longer. But no matter how hard he tried to fall back asleep, the sound of his bedridden father kept him wide awake.
Through the darkness Sky could see the outline of the sunrise, glistening between the cracks of the blinds on his window. The birds chirping gave him a sense of comfort, as if all was going to be okay, just because they were singing their song. He decided that laying there trying to fall asleep wasn’t going to do him any good. Sky slid the covers from his bed down to his ankles and swerved around to get up and find some clothes for school. Skinny jeans or baggy jeans? He thought. He went with a black pair of skinny jeans and a band T-shirt. The Used. His next to favourite. Sky slid on his pants and shirt in the darkness and cold, when he realized that he needed a belt he flicked the switch on and the room around him lit up in a dull, boring sort of way. All of his walls were black with bright, neon pictures and posters taped to the wall. His sheets were black, his carpet was white, his blinds were white and his closet’s border lines were lime green. Nothing too extravagant, just his style. He searched for a belt in the back of his closet. Hot pink, neon blue, white, black with yellow skulls. He couldn’t decide. What would Trent choose? Sky pondered, Trent was Sky’s boyfriend. He got picked on a lot at school because of his sexuality, but he didn’t mind. Sky stood there for a moment, thinking about Trent. Was it love? Or just a false sense of love that kept them going for the two years they had been together.
He didn’t know, but he did know he needed to find a belt. Or else he would be mooning people all day. And that wouldn’t be very good.Sky thought and finally went with the hot pink belt to go along with the white lettering on his band T-shirt. Sky closed his closet doors and looked at himself in the mirror. There was something missing in his outfit. For some reason he knew that it wasn’t complete just yet. He looked around the room trying to find out what it needed. Something, but what something? Sky thought to himself. He spotted a couple of his wrist bands laying on a side table beside his bed. One with rings in it, to make it look like it was full of holes. One with spikes, and one with studs. The spikes were too dangerous, the rings didn’t match, so Sky put on the wrist band with the studs. There now it looked good.
He then proceeded to the bathroom where he would do his hair and make-up. Surprisingly enough, it took Sky close to two hours to do his hair that morning. For some strange reason it wouldn’t cooperate for him. The bathroom smelt like a mixture of candles and hairspray by the time he finished. Sky waited until the straightener cooled down and then he moved on to his make-up. He didn’t go all out like a cross dresser, just some lash blast and eye liner did the trick. As if his eyes needed to stand out more. They were already a shade of bright blue, almost a sea blue, if it wern’t for the golden outline around his eyes you would almost think he had contacts in. Sky hated the color of his eyes, he thought they made him look vulnerable. And he was. But he rarely showed his emotions to anyone accept Trent.
Skylar checked the clock once again. 7:13, shit! Sky bolted down the stairs and rounded the kitchen where is mother was standing at the window having a cigarette.
” Morning, Sky. How did you sleep? ” She wheezed at she talked, her voice was scratchy and her skin was pale.
” Fine, mom, but I really have to go. I’ll see you later. Bye! ” Sky didn’t like talking to people very much. He was always quiet and when he was younger his parents thought that he was depressed. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t the social type. Which he always thought was funny because Trent was the complete opposite, he was very social. But there wasn’t very many people to talk to these days. All the hate and flaque they both got when people found out they were dating nearly tore Sky apart. He changed. And now he was this. People have stereotypes, they call him and Trent emo. Short form for emotional. But Sky was everything but. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, Sky was emotional, just so emotional that he hardly felt anything at all.
He headed down near the end of the street to the bus stop. He was the only one there. He was always the only one there.
If you want to read the rest, go to my page and click the the one with Q2 at the end :)

She’s 12, going on 13 and last year she bought herself a laptop with her birthday money. It’s the only computer in the house however so we all kind of share it, mostly me and my sister.
Basically she acts like a drug addict. She spent literally all summer just sitting on the computer. She put on a bit of weight and became really pale and just never wanted to leave the house. She has no friends to hang out with and no interests or hobbies. All she cares about is her precious computer. During the summer I tried forcing her to come out for walks with me or to come to the library and she came out maybe twice but that’s it. It’s like it’s torture for her to leave the house. I encouraged her to make new friends in her new school and start going out more and I tried to give her advice but she wasn’t interested and hasn’t made many new friends.

At the weekends she just sits on the computer all day, or to take a break, watches TV or plays the playstation for a while.
I tell her to join an after school sport but she just says no, she doesn’t like sports. She doesn’t take any exercise.

I don’t know what she does on the computer. She used to talk to her old best friend on MSN and now as far as I know she plays games and just goes on bebo but she is extremely secretive about what she gets up to – nobody is allowed to look at the screen and she closes the lid if you come too near.
I’m trying to take the computer off her now. I’ll let her use it for a while each day and then just forcibly remove it from her room. The problem is that she doesn’t let it go without a fight. She says she hasn’t used it enough today, she needs it (I ask why she says because she wants it), that it’s not fair, that it belongs to her and she keeps coming into my room and asking for it back even though I say no. Then she gets slightly violent, trying to push past me to get to the laptop and I have to try and push her out of my room because she won’t leave. And then she slams the door really loudly.
Don’t ask why the parents aren’t involved. I’m 18 and our mother doesn’t discipline her. Don’t ask.
Why is she like this? She doesn’t listen to anyone and thinks she can do what she wants. What can I do?

Any useful input is appreciated since I’m only 13 and don’t really know about book writing.
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My sweaty hands clutched the wheel as I jerked the long car around the narrow, scrubby roads, taking care not to damage the flawless, glossy paintwork as the hedgerow leaves scratched against the shiny metal. I sucked in a deep breath of the stale air that was circulating around the interior of the vehicle, whilst peering ahead of me in the gloomy white fog that engulfed the landscape and rendered anyone who might wander out on this particular night unable to see.
A chirpy jingle broke the ominous silence and a stream of flashing light shone out of my handbag, glowing rhythmically as I emerged onto a wider stretch of road. I ignored the irritating thrum of my phone. The car’s wheels ran smoothly and sleekly over the ground and I decided to enhance the speed so I could be home long enough to catch a couple of hours’ grateful slumber, even if it be on the comfy, old sofa.
My manicured, talon-like nails tapped impatiently against the gear stick as I listened to the voice of my mother screech out from the phone’s speakers.
“Courtney!” she shrieked, her voice a scrambled, fuzzy sound from being muffled against the lining of my bag. “Courtney, I hope you are on your way home now! It’s been ages since I’ve spoken with you and to be honest, I’m regretting all this modelling and catwalk business. It’s utterly ridiculous and…”
I sighed contemptuously and, with one hand still holding the wheel, delved through my bag to find the phone and possibly answer the call, if I could find the courage to do even that. I was frowning as I pulled it out with my thumb poised over the silver answer button, and I looked back at the road. Long enough to notice a dark stranger crossing the road, but unfortunately not long enough to do anything remotely sensible about slamming my foot down on the brake.
With my unbelieving eyes almost popping out of my head and my screams choked back by a sudden frenzied sobbing, the car ploughed into the stranger with a sickening thump and a couple of bloodcurdling cracks, carrying on until it skidded into a wall where it came to a final standstill. Silence settled over the deathly scene again, and the mists engulfed and gathered around the car as I fumbled with the door and fell clumsily free of the car. The car was in a sorry state; the windscreen was shattered and little shards of glass had been embedded into my skin where blood now slowly ebbed out. The bumper had been squashed against the wall and was now emitting swirls of ash-grey smoke into the sky.

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