Frustration

Things feel incomplete.

Unfinished.

I have moved out of home, but I still have a lot of stuff left in my room. But despite the fact that I haven't taken everything out, stuff is being tossed in my room like it's a junk store. Can I at least finish taking my stuff out?

My bed is covered in junk. Not my junk. I will have to take boxes and box up all my stuff. Everything.

I hate cockroaches. They are nearly making me hate the flat. It's nice otherwise. I wish it was a small house with a little garden. With no neighbours playing shit music and making noise and with no cockroaches, and then we could sort our own place out. Make everything nice and stuff. But it's temporary. We might have moved out by the time I'm finished with my next cross-stitch.

I wish things were normal. They aren't normal at all. At home it's all shitty. All problems and broken things and clutter and chaos and stuff like that. I can't deal with all that and I wish mom would just... I dunno, come right. Be normal. Move into a nice, problem-free littler place, and get rid of all the junk. All the clutter and junk. But that would never happen. Sis would like to move out I'm sure, and have a normal place. If only mom would too. I can't handle going there and then mom talks on and on about the problems and I feel upset for days. It's hard to describe in a way that anyone would understand. I don't want to talk on the phone. I do want to, but not like that. I don't want that. It hurts.