Random Strawberry Dream...
Last week sometime my mom called me and told me that my grandmother was doing better. She had even eaten a little bit, and that she was going to ask this woman who believed in "healing" to come pray over my grandmother. The woman said she would, but that she'd need to be all alone when she did it. She had self professed to pray-healing herself out of a wheel chair and had prayed her mother (who was in the room across from my grandmother's) out of the death hospice and cured of all previous ailments. A miracle. Later that week when my mom called me back and said that my grandmother was in the last stages of life, I felt childish when the first thought that popped into my head was "why didn't you get that woman in to pray??? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!!" I didn't say it. I didn't even cry. Later that week my mom told me she had died. I never really feel beautiful. Bryon tells me I am all the time. "Corynne, how did you get so pretty?" "How did I end up with such a beautiful girl?" I love him despite my utter disbelief. Especially since this summer. I have gotten fat and slobbish and manish. My hair has become complete bullshit and I look like I have completely given up on life. I am not a girl but some monster of a thing. I feel like I can never take enough baths, I can never scrub enough dirt away, I can never feel girlie again. Damn paint job. People think I'm joking when I say I want to go on TLC's "WHAT NOT TO WEAR" for a makeover and clothes, but I'm not. It has truly become an ambition. I have been dropping hints everywhere. I have to get out of this ugly funk and I have got to mature my clothing. Get clothes that feel and breath and move like me. I need a body that feels like me. But that requires movement. Or does it? Laxative anyone? All the hags were over today whining about getting old, only showing their faces when death comes around. Serves them right that we will have a closed caskett. Won't be able to feel good about the fact that that's not you lying down there in the caskett. Bitches. Come around when I've just recieved the best news of my life. Not here, not now. Anyway they told me I was pretty and skinny ( "You can't weigh more than 120lbs") and that I should actually do this Miss GA pageant shit. I just daydreamed about the judges getting my application and laughing at the horrible picture I would have to submit. I threw it away after they left the room. Later I went to look in the mirror at what they'd seen and I knew what was going on then. They didn't think I was pretty. It was my sister they liked. I remember on the school bus back when I rode it. Some asshole suggested the boys judge which one of us were prettier. I lost of course. A fucking cook aunt of mine went on and on about how my sister had gotten much prettier since college, and didnt even notice I was in the fucking room. The old hags that stopped by just had more tact than her. "Vanessa's daughter's have gotten so beautiful." Hah. I wonder if my dad knows my grandmother is dead. I spent the majority of my time today while riding back to GA writing down plans for the house Bryon and I will one day build together, because I had nothing better to do and because I orgasm just about everytime I pick up a pen. And yes, Jeff, Bryon DOES talk like that despite what he said when you came over. It still hurts. But when we are alone we do talk about our future. Hawaii. I want to have a baby so bad I sometimes play out the nine months in my head....telling the loved ones, getting married, fighting, all coming together at the birth. Foolish idle mind. I want to write something dynamic and passionate, but I can't because I stink at it. What have I ever been good at in my life? Sometimes it AMAZES me how fucked up I am and I just want to cry. I just want someone to help me. I just want the demons to go away. My sister is still a bitch, and now it's worse because my sister is the poster child of what my mom wanted us to do in college. Join this group join that group. She fucking pledged my mom's sorority. I didn't stand a chance. So now they team up on me. She's still a bitch. I still don't like her. That didn't stop me from crying into my pillow earlier today I hate people. I hate trying so hard and always feeling like I fail. The only person I feel secure around is Bryon. I beat the shit out of him (my crazy ass) and he's always just right there to pick up the pieces. That's right, BEAT THE SHIT out of him. I get to pretend like he's the one who rapped me, he's the one who beat me down all my life, he's my daddy. And he just brings me back and loves me more. And that's not true. I STILL feel inadequate and uncertain around Bryon because I just KNOW I'm not loving him enough. I want to love him so much and I can't. I hate people. I still hate everyone in my whole fucking life that ever hurt me. I hate mean people but I love them because I would kiss your ass while I beat the shit out of the only person that loves me IN SPITE OF. ARGGG. My grandmother is dead. I loved my grandmother. She got depressed. And smoked and drank her way into an early grave. The one Tuesday at 11 in fact. Tomorrow I will get my hair done and I wish I had the courage to just cut it all off. I need my baby more than I ever. I love him. My mind is so fucked up it just hurts. I need to be locked away. This is me this is the REAL me. "No push-ups, no cover ups" This is me stream of consciousness. A bunch of sad angry depressed angsty SHIT. All I ever want to be is what I'm most afraid of yadda yadda yadda. You can't color your world with ranibows and bunnies. Everyone's asleep but me.