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I'm confused about a lot of crap, and a conversation I had earlier with a few people seemed to make it worse.

Who am I? The Christian guy with a broken family, non-existent morals that he still obeys, slit wrists, and a closet sexuality? The freak who thinks dying before anyone can hurt him is best? The crying little child whose father left, whose mother is dating a weirdo, whose older brother hates them all?

If there is such a thing as "home without a home", I'm living it. I want everything to be the same, like before I tried to kill myself, before my dad left, before my brother became someone he shouldn't be,, before my life fell apart, before I questioned God.

I want things to be... right. But they're not, and they won't ever be.

Because God doesn't care enough to look at our insignificant family, where everyone is dying from the inside out.

The sad thing is that I know I deserve more than that. But no one else does.