Like I said, I'm begging my parents for Adderall. Like I haven't said, I'm down on my knees.
When I beg, I get down on my knees. Is it bad that I'm old fashioned? Is it bad that I want help?
At first, they stare silently into each other's eyes for four minutes. At first they say, no, never.
Because Mom and Dad are old hippies who really don't believe in psychotropic medications.
But then I flunk all my classes and my chemistry teacher starts calling them and they say yes!
And I don't want to talk about what happens next...And here's what happens next...And next...I burst into fresh tears and my chemistry teacher says, "What's the matter? You can't take it?"
I hate him. I run out of the building like it's burning down. I hate him. And my pants are on fire.
Gosh, the weather is so harsh and I'm wearing a tee shirt and my puffer is hanging in my locker.
He calls my name. I turn around. I am done. Third degree burns over ninety percent of my body.
"What's the matter with you? Why are you such a freak? Why won't you let me school you?"
My chemistry teacher is having some questions. My chemistry teacher is such a wild animal.
I tell him, "There's a stray cat under my bed. My parents want to fuck me. School is too hard."
I tell him, "I'm lacking emotional skin. You don't even know me. I'm worried about skin cancer."
I tell him, "I didn't sign up for this. My blood is hot, hot, hot. These pills are making me crazy."
He charges at me. It's a big hug. It's a tough world. He must know that I'll never change for him?