It's one of those weeks. Volatile is my life.
Don't touch me, I'll bite off your hand.
Don't look at me, I'll take offense.
Talk to me at your peril.

Why am I ignored? Not here, but in real life? Why does no one offer any attention?
Alone. As always.

I can't talk to anyone. Too many problems in the family anyway.

I don't think I matter.

It's too hard to care about things that don't affect me.