circling the drain...
Though I hate to admit it, moving here is a much harder adjustment than I anticipated.
I'm a loner. I enjoy my free time, my alone time, and I highly value my privacy.
But I'm living in a house with 4 other people-- none of whom know much anything about me, and all of whom I am hiding my BIG SECRET from. All the time I hear barrages of anti-gay jokes, comments, and insults. "Ey, what a fag, eh??" *jabs me in the rubs with an elbow, laughing.* And all I can do is go, "Heh..." and look away...
I keep journals. Many. I probably have 11 or 12 journals filled front to back that I've been keeping since I was 13 years old. There is a lot in there I DO NOT want anyone to know about. But in my corner of a basement room I have absolutely nowhere to hide anything. I feel panicky leaving my room in fear that one of my step-brothers will scamper downstairs and get their grubby hands on all my darkest secrets. The more I am here, the more defensive I become. I have to be coaxed up from the basement, usually refusing to emerge until my dad offers me a beer. Even then, sitting by the campfire, my eyes dart back towards the basement door... making sure no one goes down by my things. Am I becoming Agoraphobic???
Another thing difficult about living here. My artwork.
My dad has seen some and it is safe to say he was less than pleased. He even flat out told me the other night, "I don't wanna see any of your, fucked up, morbid shit on the walls. If Anne sees that she's going to have my head. She already told me she doesn't want her boys to see it. You're a bad influence already with your smoking and you don't believe in God or morals."
Don't even get me started on that last one.
But my art is ME, and true, it might be a bit morbid, or twisted, but I don't view the world with rainbow colored lenses and gallop around on a fucking unicorn. They've already made me change my clothes, remove my piercings, cut my hair the way THEY wanted it, said i can't listen to metal or any rock music, and now, they take away my art. Last night I was trying to draw, but people kept running into the basement and I had a "fake" drawing of a hummingbird I had to quickly flip to whenever I heard pounding footsteps. Eventually I just gave up. What's even left of me, other than my private thoughts, which, when I journal them, I am terrified of being found out?
For those of you who don't know, my dad and his family are completely oblivious to the fact that I am bisexual. If they knew, I'd be sent to the slaughterhouse. I can't have company, and I have to make up stories about boys and boyfriends. It's this huge aspect of my life that I am made to feel ashamed about every single day of my life. This is why I am so paranoid. No one can know. It's like I'm not even myself when I'm here anymore. It's draining to believe otherwise.
Another thing that angered me last night-- around the campfire, my dad's cunt Anne started shit talking my aunts. Anne was bitching to me about how my Aunt Ellen has a shit hairstyle, dresses really homely, and her house is a disaster ("it's messy! she doesn't do anything with it! the walls are completley white and the paint is chipping and blah blah blah!). My Aunt is so fucking busy, and she's 50, taking care of her 13 year old son Ted who has a bajillion extracurriculars going on. She's too exhausted and busy to spend 2 hours fixing herself up every morning or repainting their huge house. Yet I had to sit, and listen to her bash on my wonderful aunt.
Every holiday my family has on rotation. Ellen does Easter, Dad does Thanksgiving, and Diane does Christmas. Well last night, Anne was insisting that we have all the holidays at our house to ensure we "eat well." My aunt Ellen is not the best cook in the world, but, she gets so excited about doing Easter every year. She hides eggs, and baskets, and treats; even though we insist we're too old she does it anyway. And loves it. When Anne started going off last night about stealing Ellen's Easter, and then Christmas while she was at it, I had to step in, and say, "Holidays are not about the food." to which she responded, "Yes, they are."
I was dumbfounded.
Holidays are for spending quality time with your family. Being together AS a family. Not about the goddamned food you scarf down and shit out a few hours later. She kept saying "I don't want to eat Ellen's food, she can't cook for shit. We are going to have family holidays HERE from now on and I will cook and we will ALL. EAT. WELL."
I wanted to hit her in the teeth.
Lady, don't try and butt in here and change everything about MY family and the way we've done things for my entire fucking life. Who does she think she is? I almost went inside at that point, but, I crossed my leg away from her (blatant body language) and lit up a cig, which, she hates.
I am not some middle schooler having trouble accepting a new parental figure into my life. No, I am able to do that, especially since my mother is such a piece of work. But this bitch? Where to begin.
My sister refuses to talk to my father any more because of this woman. It's heartbreaking, especially since my dad is not in the best of health and probably won't be around much longer.
This woman is tearing apart my family little by little. She already hates me. My dad tried to get her to sit in the chair next to me last night and she refused. My dad says he thinks she's threatened by me being here. That I am going to detract time my dad could be spending with her kids. Well fuck that, I'm his daughter. I normally see him a few meager times a year-- of course we're going to be talking a lot.
I just don't know what to do anymore.
I'm living a lie, and smiling with a gun to my head.
This isn't fucking "living".
I also had a dream last night that we were all in some ghetto off of MLK drive. At gunpoint. He started shooting, and I got on my knees and started begging for my life like a bitch. I got shot anyway; first my hearing went... I could see mouths open with screams, but I couldn't hear them, it was all muffled, I couldn't hear anything, then I tasted blood, and slowly my vision faded....
Is that really how I'd act in my most desperate hour? Begging on my knees like a fucking pussy?
I woke up completely disgusted with myself.
I'm just disgusted in general, I suppose.
Well thanks for reading the trivial complains of my so-called life.
I'm a loner. I enjoy my free time, my alone time, and I highly value my privacy.
But I'm living in a house with 4 other people-- none of whom know much anything about me, and all of whom I am hiding my BIG SECRET from. All the time I hear barrages of anti-gay jokes, comments, and insults. "Ey, what a fag, eh??" *jabs me in the rubs with an elbow, laughing.* And all I can do is go, "Heh..." and look away...
I keep journals. Many. I probably have 11 or 12 journals filled front to back that I've been keeping since I was 13 years old. There is a lot in there I DO NOT want anyone to know about. But in my corner of a basement room I have absolutely nowhere to hide anything. I feel panicky leaving my room in fear that one of my step-brothers will scamper downstairs and get their grubby hands on all my darkest secrets. The more I am here, the more defensive I become. I have to be coaxed up from the basement, usually refusing to emerge until my dad offers me a beer. Even then, sitting by the campfire, my eyes dart back towards the basement door... making sure no one goes down by my things. Am I becoming Agoraphobic???
Another thing difficult about living here. My artwork.
My dad has seen some and it is safe to say he was less than pleased. He even flat out told me the other night, "I don't wanna see any of your, fucked up, morbid shit on the walls. If Anne sees that she's going to have my head. She already told me she doesn't want her boys to see it. You're a bad influence already with your smoking and you don't believe in God or morals."
Don't even get me started on that last one.
But my art is ME, and true, it might be a bit morbid, or twisted, but I don't view the world with rainbow colored lenses and gallop around on a fucking unicorn. They've already made me change my clothes, remove my piercings, cut my hair the way THEY wanted it, said i can't listen to metal or any rock music, and now, they take away my art. Last night I was trying to draw, but people kept running into the basement and I had a "fake" drawing of a hummingbird I had to quickly flip to whenever I heard pounding footsteps. Eventually I just gave up. What's even left of me, other than my private thoughts, which, when I journal them, I am terrified of being found out?
For those of you who don't know, my dad and his family are completely oblivious to the fact that I am bisexual. If they knew, I'd be sent to the slaughterhouse. I can't have company, and I have to make up stories about boys and boyfriends. It's this huge aspect of my life that I am made to feel ashamed about every single day of my life. This is why I am so paranoid. No one can know. It's like I'm not even myself when I'm here anymore. It's draining to believe otherwise.
Another thing that angered me last night-- around the campfire, my dad's cunt Anne started shit talking my aunts. Anne was bitching to me about how my Aunt Ellen has a shit hairstyle, dresses really homely, and her house is a disaster ("it's messy! she doesn't do anything with it! the walls are completley white and the paint is chipping and blah blah blah!). My Aunt is so fucking busy, and she's 50, taking care of her 13 year old son Ted who has a bajillion extracurriculars going on. She's too exhausted and busy to spend 2 hours fixing herself up every morning or repainting their huge house. Yet I had to sit, and listen to her bash on my wonderful aunt.
Every holiday my family has on rotation. Ellen does Easter, Dad does Thanksgiving, and Diane does Christmas. Well last night, Anne was insisting that we have all the holidays at our house to ensure we "eat well." My aunt Ellen is not the best cook in the world, but, she gets so excited about doing Easter every year. She hides eggs, and baskets, and treats; even though we insist we're too old she does it anyway. And loves it. When Anne started going off last night about stealing Ellen's Easter, and then Christmas while she was at it, I had to step in, and say, "Holidays are not about the food." to which she responded, "Yes, they are."
I was dumbfounded.
Holidays are for spending quality time with your family. Being together AS a family. Not about the goddamned food you scarf down and shit out a few hours later. She kept saying "I don't want to eat Ellen's food, she can't cook for shit. We are going to have family holidays HERE from now on and I will cook and we will ALL. EAT. WELL."
I wanted to hit her in the teeth.
Lady, don't try and butt in here and change everything about MY family and the way we've done things for my entire fucking life. Who does she think she is? I almost went inside at that point, but, I crossed my leg away from her (blatant body language) and lit up a cig, which, she hates.
I am not some middle schooler having trouble accepting a new parental figure into my life. No, I am able to do that, especially since my mother is such a piece of work. But this bitch? Where to begin.
My sister refuses to talk to my father any more because of this woman. It's heartbreaking, especially since my dad is not in the best of health and probably won't be around much longer.
This woman is tearing apart my family little by little. She already hates me. My dad tried to get her to sit in the chair next to me last night and she refused. My dad says he thinks she's threatened by me being here. That I am going to detract time my dad could be spending with her kids. Well fuck that, I'm his daughter. I normally see him a few meager times a year-- of course we're going to be talking a lot.
I just don't know what to do anymore.
I'm living a lie, and smiling with a gun to my head.
This isn't fucking "living".
I also had a dream last night that we were all in some ghetto off of MLK drive. At gunpoint. He started shooting, and I got on my knees and started begging for my life like a bitch. I got shot anyway; first my hearing went... I could see mouths open with screams, but I couldn't hear them, it was all muffled, I couldn't hear anything, then I tasted blood, and slowly my vision faded....
Is that really how I'd act in my most desperate hour? Begging on my knees like a fucking pussy?
I woke up completely disgusted with myself.
I'm just disgusted in general, I suppose.
Well thanks for reading the trivial complains of my so-called life.