"I tell you I'm not crazy!" I screamed at mother. She doesn't listen to me. She don't understand.
"Tell someone that cares Amanda!" Ouch.
"I hate you!" I cried and ran to my room, locking the door behind me. I slide down the wall and cried into my knees. Even though it's a daily thing, it still hurts. I don't think I'll ever get use to my own mother not wanting me. She has never wanted me. Ever since the day I was born, I was the outcast. The weirdo in the back of the classroom. If my parents doesn't even like me, why would people want to be friends with me? I've been asking my self the same question for 17 years, and even now I come up with the same answer.
But then again, why do I even bother telling people my secret? They would think I'm a freak anyway because "I talk to myself". It's not my fault I'm the only one who sees them! Right? No one knows I see the dead, they just won't listen when I tell them I'm not crazy.
Oh who am I kidding. Of course it's my fault. If I had just stopped believing in magic, all of this wouldn't have happened! Curse you Amanda and your sick brain.