fly paper
It's been a really tough year. My brothers and I, who I'm pleased to say have become closer courtesy of our dad's passing, are now joint-homeowners. I own 1/3 of a house. I'd be excited if it were something I didn't have to claim on my taxes, which probably means I'll need someone to do my taxes from now on and that the three of us will be paying additional taxes accrued on homeowners. (I voted yes on those things for the specific reason that I did NOT own a home, which is great...) There's a Harley I'm still fawning over and whether or not I'd just rather take the projected value of the asset. (I hate every single legal term I have had to learn because of all of this, I swear to you!) This week is especially difficult as the memorial service will be held on Thursday at the Old Fellow's Lodge, which is a fancy word for "the apartment above the Music Source on First Street." I'd be lying if I said "every drug dealer I met was because of my dad," because that just isn't true. I've ventured into delinquency enough to have met my fair share of crackheads, bag whores, and gang members. I just choose to believe that had I not been exposed to these things the way that I was, I would've been better off for it.
I don't know how to explain to anyone the things I've seen or the life I've led because I choose to think of it as normal. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized my brothers and I were subject to a very specific society of people and circumstances. I'd also be lying if I told you I wasn't bitter about it, because I am. I just began reading Vanity Fair (the novel by Thackeray, not the fashion mag) and part of me feels akin to poor, conniving, Becky Sharp. Every good thing that's ever happened to me has been due entirely to my own perseverance but I'd gladly wish for a mother or father who could've spared me the heartache of having to learn everything the hard way, on my own. Josh and I talked about the concept of college growing up. My parents didn't know how to help us, or even to motivate us, and instead of trying to learn, they told us we were adults and had to figure it out on our own. That's what I've been doing. That's what I'm bitter about. I'm not sure if they've ever really helped us with anything. The salt in the wound is that I believe myself to have helped my mother with her depression and general feelings of inadequacy than she's ever helped me, with the exception of monetary aid which quite frankly I'd do without if I could jut to show her I don't need her. (This in the instance of large financial quandaries generally involving vehicle repairs or replacement, with the intent to pay back all said loans.) I think one of the only reasons I would ever consider getting married is because I'd love to have a knowledgeable, helpful family who doesn't rely on me for as much as they do and instead we could create a wonderful support system for one another.
If I weren't so optimistic I definitely would've killed myself by now. Frankly, this entire situation is quite unbearable when I think of it all at once like this. I make no secret of it. All of the family knows it. I want to rid myself of this filthy town that holds nothing for me, and I intend to, but no one's going to help me do it and no one ever has. If I'm going to do something with myself, it's me who's going to have to do it. But it would certainly be nice to have some help once in awhile...
I don't know how to explain to anyone the things I've seen or the life I've led because I choose to think of it as normal. It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized my brothers and I were subject to a very specific society of people and circumstances. I'd also be lying if I told you I wasn't bitter about it, because I am. I just began reading Vanity Fair (the novel by Thackeray, not the fashion mag) and part of me feels akin to poor, conniving, Becky Sharp. Every good thing that's ever happened to me has been due entirely to my own perseverance but I'd gladly wish for a mother or father who could've spared me the heartache of having to learn everything the hard way, on my own. Josh and I talked about the concept of college growing up. My parents didn't know how to help us, or even to motivate us, and instead of trying to learn, they told us we were adults and had to figure it out on our own. That's what I've been doing. That's what I'm bitter about. I'm not sure if they've ever really helped us with anything. The salt in the wound is that I believe myself to have helped my mother with her depression and general feelings of inadequacy than she's ever helped me, with the exception of monetary aid which quite frankly I'd do without if I could jut to show her I don't need her. (This in the instance of large financial quandaries generally involving vehicle repairs or replacement, with the intent to pay back all said loans.) I think one of the only reasons I would ever consider getting married is because I'd love to have a knowledgeable, helpful family who doesn't rely on me for as much as they do and instead we could create a wonderful support system for one another.
If I weren't so optimistic I definitely would've killed myself by now. Frankly, this entire situation is quite unbearable when I think of it all at once like this. I make no secret of it. All of the family knows it. I want to rid myself of this filthy town that holds nothing for me, and I intend to, but no one's going to help me do it and no one ever has. If I'm going to do something with myself, it's me who's going to have to do it. But it would certainly be nice to have some help once in awhile...