Every night I talk to the universe, but I can’t always trust it to keep all my secrets so I am forced to keep them to myself. It’s either my cats who howl them in the dead of night or a file on google docs that I protect with my life. I know I can’t keep journals safe, I’ve lost thousands. So I have to hold in the stress of my frustration with my parents and the constant pressure of my English teacher making us think about college when I just want to sit in class and actually learn something. I have to hold my tongue to not lash out at my parents and pull myself away from my brother’s room because he has his own problems and he doesn’t need more. I have to repeat breathing exercises to keep any loose tears because I’m already over my yearly crying limit. I have to learn how to pretend I’m not crying and go out and act like I’m fine. But I know I’m not. I’ve been stressed out and stretched thin beyond my limits. And for some reason I can’t bring myself to call my therapist and she’s an angel for staying by my side, but I can’t seem to send even one text begging for help. All these responsibilities and whatnots are suddenly given to me, just out of the blue. I seem to be the friend who is always the punching bag and I always want to help my friends with their problems, but I have no one to go to and only see my therapist like every three weeks or more. So I’d like to see the universe try, try to be my punching bag because he never was and I doubt ever will be. I don’t want to handle my problems alone, but sometimes you have to even if you don’t want to. I wish I could be open about my problems but I can’t, it’s too difficult. Everything it bottled up and will probably stay that way and I have no way to drink my sorrows since I only mentally wallow in them. The closest way I have to relieving them is stress eating because that’s all I do and can do. And when I run out of things to eat, I become more irritated than before and I’ve made myself hungry once more. So, I’ll just eat myself alive.