I'm always angry when I think of my parents. They are not bad people at all. It's the fact they don't know how much pain they leave me in that pisses me off. They beg me to live for them while they don't know that if it's not for them, I'd be long gone. They blame the oustide world that made me into this fucked up dude while they don't know that it's actually them who did it. Mom always thinks she does a good job raising me. For the sake of heaven, and as an advocate of Robert Bly's, I really want to scream at her for thinking like that. Gender is NOT biological only. Why the f*** did she she have to make me become anti-man in the past so that I could fill the void my Dad left behind when he was going away for work? Now I hate myself for being a man every waking minute. The more unaware she is of the problem, the angrier I am. And dad, why the hell do you act like a saint when I know you're not? Why do you think that you understand me while you don't even begin to have a clue? What does "normal" even mean? And why do you think I am, ever, normal? And you want I'm constantly thinking about killing them and then committing suicide.