(no subject)
Another Word Post
Everyone's leaving. I might leave, too. Because I don't have enough money to stay here. (funny how non-sensical words come together to predict the future, neh.) I'm kicked out, for a reason i don't really quite understand and I'll be out by September 30th. This isn't any type of sympathy post, really. Just because I don't seem to have anywhere to vent. And good ole' LJ comes to the rescue again.
Yesterday, in a fit of desperate anger towards my family in general for their backwards thinking, unfairness, and sneering remarks, I phoned Rory, then mike, then gave up on the world and chucked junk food over the front lawn and booked it up the street where I collapsed and cried. It was rather freeing, because I haven't openly sobbed with such desperate energy in quite the time. And hearing the footsteps walk by me, and the kids squealing in the distance was comforting.
Until some guy, I haven't decided whether he's an angel or a jackass, rides up on a bike, and, with a thick cuban accent says:
"Hey, Beautiful. Hey. Are you OK?" at which point i looked up, discreetly whiped my nose on the back of my hand, and nodded.
"You are beautiful when you cry. What are you crying for?"
And so on. Until he dismissed me and I ran up towards the meadow. Where he followed me and persuaded me to go home. He was wrong about a lot of things, but right about a lot more.
Today I am still at a loss of what to do. Screaming helps, a lot. I scream a lot. And the odd spurt of jogging helps, too. But to make this seem maybe a little more dramatic than it actually is, there's not much that can make up for being rejected by your own parents.
And your whole family.
Rory relayed something that his mom said tonight, saying that once I'm out, once i'm far from here, I'll look back and laugh.
I hope she's right. Because I feel pretty void of laughter lately.
I know that I don't deserve this, really. I fucked up once and it snowballed. And I don't even know if I fucked up! I mean, who would be? There have been so many lies in the family disguised as truths that no one really knows where anyone stands.
I know that I have to be mature and look at this whole situation kind of detatched... But I can't get around it. I was supposed to believe that my Mom was the most honest, loving, giving person in the world, and my Dad was supposed to be my hero. We embroidered, made christmas crafts, went fishing, went camping, painted pictures. And pray that it's my fault, because then at least I can fix it.
But there are printed out LiveJournal entries from the beginning of this depression trip hiding in my mom's jewlery box, though she supposedly didn't read my journal.
There is whiskey still hiding in my Dad's bedroom. My Mom was supposed to divorce my Dad when he started drinking again.
She is afraid to talk to him.
My Mom promised to always be there for me if I needed to talk, that we'd always get through this together, but she took back those words, and I stopped saying mine.
Where We stopped talking altogether.
And when laura mentioned we should spend an hour a week together, doing something fun to mend our relationship, she was always "busy".
She later told me that she doesn't want to work things out. She hates me.
And my Dad's always working. But knows everything I do wrong.
And I'm never home because I can't own their images of me.
And my family resents my absence. I'm a freeloader. I'm a childish, immature fuck-up.
And here is where everything they teach me falls apart.
My brother is a second father. He treats me unfairly, calls me names, makes unfair accusations.
My sister has the ability to throw her two cents in to any fight and get away with it.
Everyone gets these strange perks, sure you can stay over night at your boyfriends. Yeah, you can stay on the computer after curfew.
Tamara.
You're a fucked up bitch. You fucking free loader. Get the fuck out. We're tired of being your FUCKING hotel.
maybe i haven't helped, that IS my fault and i accept it with open arms. I should have stayed home to help, i should have tried harder. that's MINE.
but... what did i do in the first place? i'm not really sure anymore.
and why it ended up like this? i'm not sure, either.
mom, dad. i hurt. mom...
I'm asking for help. I know there's something or someone out there that's looking after me. So I'm asking for a miracle.
Last night Mike and Jessie whisked me away to a starbucks haven where we bitched and laughed and came up with a tentative plan.
If God has any mercy, I'll move to Edmonton before my birthday.
but i wish we all coulda tried a little harder. i guess.
Everyone's leaving. I might leave, too. Because I don't have enough money to stay here. (funny how non-sensical words come together to predict the future, neh.) I'm kicked out, for a reason i don't really quite understand and I'll be out by September 30th. This isn't any type of sympathy post, really. Just because I don't seem to have anywhere to vent. And good ole' LJ comes to the rescue again.
Yesterday, in a fit of desperate anger towards my family in general for their backwards thinking, unfairness, and sneering remarks, I phoned Rory, then mike, then gave up on the world and chucked junk food over the front lawn and booked it up the street where I collapsed and cried. It was rather freeing, because I haven't openly sobbed with such desperate energy in quite the time. And hearing the footsteps walk by me, and the kids squealing in the distance was comforting.
Until some guy, I haven't decided whether he's an angel or a jackass, rides up on a bike, and, with a thick cuban accent says:
"Hey, Beautiful. Hey. Are you OK?" at which point i looked up, discreetly whiped my nose on the back of my hand, and nodded.
"You are beautiful when you cry. What are you crying for?"
And so on. Until he dismissed me and I ran up towards the meadow. Where he followed me and persuaded me to go home. He was wrong about a lot of things, but right about a lot more.
Today I am still at a loss of what to do. Screaming helps, a lot. I scream a lot. And the odd spurt of jogging helps, too. But to make this seem maybe a little more dramatic than it actually is, there's not much that can make up for being rejected by your own parents.
And your whole family.
Rory relayed something that his mom said tonight, saying that once I'm out, once i'm far from here, I'll look back and laugh.
I hope she's right. Because I feel pretty void of laughter lately.
I know that I don't deserve this, really. I fucked up once and it snowballed. And I don't even know if I fucked up! I mean, who would be? There have been so many lies in the family disguised as truths that no one really knows where anyone stands.
I know that I have to be mature and look at this whole situation kind of detatched... But I can't get around it. I was supposed to believe that my Mom was the most honest, loving, giving person in the world, and my Dad was supposed to be my hero. We embroidered, made christmas crafts, went fishing, went camping, painted pictures. And pray that it's my fault, because then at least I can fix it.
But there are printed out LiveJournal entries from the beginning of this depression trip hiding in my mom's jewlery box, though she supposedly didn't read my journal.
There is whiskey still hiding in my Dad's bedroom. My Mom was supposed to divorce my Dad when he started drinking again.
She is afraid to talk to him.
My Mom promised to always be there for me if I needed to talk, that we'd always get through this together, but she took back those words, and I stopped saying mine.
Where We stopped talking altogether.
And when laura mentioned we should spend an hour a week together, doing something fun to mend our relationship, she was always "busy".
She later told me that she doesn't want to work things out. She hates me.
And my Dad's always working. But knows everything I do wrong.
And I'm never home because I can't own their images of me.
And my family resents my absence. I'm a freeloader. I'm a childish, immature fuck-up.
And here is where everything they teach me falls apart.
My brother is a second father. He treats me unfairly, calls me names, makes unfair accusations.
My sister has the ability to throw her two cents in to any fight and get away with it.
Everyone gets these strange perks, sure you can stay over night at your boyfriends. Yeah, you can stay on the computer after curfew.
Tamara.
You're a fucked up bitch. You fucking free loader. Get the fuck out. We're tired of being your FUCKING hotel.
maybe i haven't helped, that IS my fault and i accept it with open arms. I should have stayed home to help, i should have tried harder. that's MINE.
but... what did i do in the first place? i'm not really sure anymore.
and why it ended up like this? i'm not sure, either.
mom, dad. i hurt. mom...
I'm asking for help. I know there's something or someone out there that's looking after me. So I'm asking for a miracle.
Last night Mike and Jessie whisked me away to a starbucks haven where we bitched and laughed and came up with a tentative plan.
If God has any mercy, I'll move to Edmonton before my birthday.
but i wish we all coulda tried a little harder. i guess.