Running With Scissors

by Augusten Burroughs.
I have my book.
This shrine of a memoir... this... sacred scripture!
My reasoning for the extreme hyperboles?
I'm not allowed to read it >:)
And I FOUND A COPY :D:D
And plus, I love it.
But yes; I'm going on fifteen years on this planet and I'm not allowed to read about pedophiliac blow-jobs and perscription pill addictions. You know... I think my parents under-estimate my mentality. I'm not like other children. Other children haven't gone through or seen half the shit I have or understand the things I do. And I know the gist of the book already, so what's eating her?? I don't get it. I suppose I'm still an innocent child in her eyes. Even though I was sure I shattered that precious illusion when I confessed about my 18 yr. old boyfriend and having been addicted to inhalants already. (I know, I know, I don't want to hear it -.-) But I guess that Would tend to make me seem even more childish. I only got addicted because I was curious; that's immature. & it seems to others that I was with him only because he was 18; which is not true... but people think it is and deem it immature. Hm... so I guess her prolonged shielding isn't completely irrational. But I'm just so goddamn sick of my parents smothering me. *sigh*
Oh well.
I got the damn book.
I'm reading it.
And it is NOT too profane for me. Lolol xD