...
So, I think it's fair for me to say that I'm a complete emotional wreck right now.
Saturday? Fine. I just stayed the night over Lisa's.
Sunday? I receive a phone call from my mother in the morning telling me to come along home. So I do. And a huge argument ensues. Said argument included my father getting in my face, screaming, and telling me that if he ever saw me on the street, he'd break my head.
He also told me to take my bag and go. So I did.
The entire day was spent in a daze. I meandered around Stoughton by myself, and sat in the Capp playground for hours on end, listening to Evanescence and just generally hating my life. I talked to Mike St. Peters on the phone and said that it would be really easy for me to take a swan dive off the top of the slide and break my neck. Wasn't actually going to do it of course. But I think I really scared the hell out of him.
Come nine o'clock, I finally go back to Lisa's, and guess what. My mother calls, again. She accuses me of a MYRIAD of ridiculous things, including being a lesbian and being a serial killer, so I just hung up on her. Five minutes later, she calls me back and tells me that she's going to call the police in the morning and declare me a runaway.
What. The. Fuck.
So I call her back, suck it up, feed her ego, and apologize. It works, pathetically enough, and guess what. I'm home again.
Went up to my room and it's totally barren. The bitch cleaned out all my clothes, all my things, all my books. There's nothing. It looks like a fucking spare room.
Yeah, mom. You didn't throw me out at all.
I don't know what the fuck to do. I really don't.
Saturday? Fine. I just stayed the night over Lisa's.
Sunday? I receive a phone call from my mother in the morning telling me to come along home. So I do. And a huge argument ensues. Said argument included my father getting in my face, screaming, and telling me that if he ever saw me on the street, he'd break my head.
He also told me to take my bag and go. So I did.
The entire day was spent in a daze. I meandered around Stoughton by myself, and sat in the Capp playground for hours on end, listening to Evanescence and just generally hating my life. I talked to Mike St. Peters on the phone and said that it would be really easy for me to take a swan dive off the top of the slide and break my neck. Wasn't actually going to do it of course. But I think I really scared the hell out of him.
Come nine o'clock, I finally go back to Lisa's, and guess what. My mother calls, again. She accuses me of a MYRIAD of ridiculous things, including being a lesbian and being a serial killer, so I just hung up on her. Five minutes later, she calls me back and tells me that she's going to call the police in the morning and declare me a runaway.
What. The. Fuck.
So I call her back, suck it up, feed her ego, and apologize. It works, pathetically enough, and guess what. I'm home again.
Went up to my room and it's totally barren. The bitch cleaned out all my clothes, all my things, all my books. There's nothing. It looks like a fucking spare room.
Yeah, mom. You didn't throw me out at all.
I don't know what the fuck to do. I really don't.