You really got your hold on me.

I've found that, in cases such as mine, I really need to find something to cheer me up in the morning. In the morning, my head is filled with such morning groggy-ness that I reflect on everything that has happened to me in the last... however long. Until I get into a situation that is much more stable and, well, generates a lot more endorphins, reflecting isn't really what I need to do. What I do in the morning basically plots out how I'll feel the rest of the day.

And thank god for small favors; I've finally got my back-up files backed up on Bev's computer. Sure, they're a year and three months old, so I'm missing a LOT of stuff, but hey. Until I get my laptop back from Sam and Evan (did I ever introduce them?) I really can't do anything about it.

Speaking of which, I really need to try and call her again. Sam. Not only does she have my laptop, but a lot of my possessions. Like my cat.

I was literally trying to break into her apartment to get my shit on the day I was leaving. She told me she would be home and she wasn't. Pissed me off. Still does. Try not to think on it.

Yeah, still morning for me right now. My sister has shown an affinity for staying up late. Really late. Good girl.

But without a morning cigarette (do you have any idea how expensive they are out here???) I really can't get my shit together soon enough to be happy about it. God, I'm a smoker. Part of me doesn't want to be, but a larger part of me just wants to smoke, damn it.
My father is coming over to Bev and my sister's apartment today to pick her and I up. Bus. We poor folk always ride the bus. If we have the money. Gas prices are 2.97 out here!! Holy shit, I'm never going to be able to afford a car. I left Missouri at 2.29.

Not to mention the ticket for that accident I was in three months ago. There really was nothing I could do about it. Honestly. How do you pay for a ticket if you don't even have money to eat? I was living on nothing. NOTHING. I was drug-running to make some extra cash, ok? On foot.

I can't do anything like that out here, though. Don't know anyone. I went from being a very big fish to a very small, small, microbe. Fuck.

Good news, though, is that my father is putting me going back to college on the priority list. Thank god. I feel so useless if I don't have a job that's actually getting me money, and I'm not even a student to point at and say, "Hey, at least I'm doing SOMETHING." Plus, hell, I really liked college. It was fun, it was just that I was trying to be a full-time student with a full-time job at sixteen/seventeen. That does NOT work.

So I'm not trying to be Superman any more. I'm going for a part-time student and working with my father, or else getting a part-time job. That way together it only equals a full time something, not a double.

But, then again, nothing else was acceptable was it, mom?

Shit, shut up, shut up.

See, I know if I dwell on my mother too long eventually I'm just going to become her. Something like the whole, "If you fight too long against the monster, you become the monster yourself." Nietzsche or something. I can't blame her for everything, it takes two to tango, etc. Sure, she was psychotic. Still is. But I really need to focus on the future and not the past.

It's easy to say, but not so easy to do. I feel like she's amputated one of my legs. In fact, I would have preferred that to this. I really would have.

Alright, alright, I need to grove to my music for a moment and then take a shower, get ready for the dad to make his appearance. Maybe go to the library really quick. Go to the grocery store.

Oh, and, hopefully... seeing Eddie tomorrow. Wouldn't that be lovely? Saturday is the year and a half for him and I. I would love to spend it with him, and I hope I do see him tomorrow. I need someone I trust and remember right now. Family members cut it... barely. I'm rebuilding with them. With him, I can simply be myself. Which means I get to de-tox. Cry.

I'll be at the fathers all weekend so I may not get around to entering an entry till the weekdays next week. See you when I see you.

"If you want to make peace, you don't talk to your friends, you talk to your enemies."

-Moshe Dayan

With strawberry gashes all over, all over...

Well, well, it has been forever and a fucking day, hasn't it?

The days following my last post were the last days of my existence in a coddled environment. I was booted out, kicked out, of my mothers house sometime in February. I had too much other things I had on my mind to remember the exact dates.

Anyway, my mother ended up being prego and all that jazz. Soon afterwards she kicks her only child (until now) out of the house. Why? I asked her some advice, and before I could actually... ask her advice... she started to attack me.

Not in a physical, violent sense, okay? Now, you have to understand the history. My mother has screamed at me too many times to count. I have a permanent dent in my skull from where she slammed it into a counter because I wasn't doing something fast enough for her. She has had DFS called on her too many times to count because people have seen her pulling me out of the car--again, because I wasn't moving fast enough--by my hair. I have been kicked, punched, yelled at, distanced, and made to feel like I am the lowliest slime on the bottom of the pond.

Not only this, but lets just touch very briefly on the fact that I actually wanted to protect this child-abusing nut-case of a woman and let her second husband (J) sexually assault me for four years of my childhood. For her. So she could have everything that she's ever wanted, and always blamed me for not having.

I'm sorry, but I didn't tell you to conceive me at the tender age of seventeen, did I? You did the deed, you pay the price. Sorry.

Okay, going off subject now. Well, any-who... I asked her advice, and she brought up something that took me a lot of guts to tell her in the first place. After I told her I was being molested, and charges were brought against J, she gave me the option to move back to California, or move somewhere. But I knew, I knew because she told me, that she loved the house too much, she loved that life too much, and it would have hurt something in her to give it up. So I told her, "No, mom, we can stay. I'm OK."

Of course, I wasn't OK. I haven't been OK since I left California when I was eight. Or nine. I can't really remember anymore.

She brought that up though. "I know that was just something you made up to make me feel bad. I don't believe your bullshit any more."

So, yeah, I was pissed. Shaking, actually. Though I prefer the word "trembling". I stood up and started to leave her office, looked at her and said, "I'm sorry you see it that way, because it was the truth."

And I went upstairs, got ready for my art class, and on my way out, I slammed the door. I was going to go see my friend and get some cigarettes, cause I really didn't get into fights often with my mom. Usually my mom got into a fight with me.

Anyway, she comes running out of the house and screams at me as I'm walking to my car, "YOU WANT TO SLAM DOORS YOU LITTLE BITCH, THEN GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE. I'M DONE WITH YOU." I shove my shit in the car cause I'm freaking out. My mom does not run at me unless she plans to hit me. I got into the front seat just in time and locked the doors. She started to pound on the drives side window as I started up the car and I flipped her off, rolling down the window long enough to yell at her to get the fuck off my car, and that she was a stupid fucking whore.

No, that wasn't the best thing to say. I realize that. But I was scared.

She gives me that look, that bone-numbing, heart stopping look that she always gets right before she does her worst, and as I start to back up out of the driveway she runs to grab a wooden planter and starts to swing it at the car. I floor it.

I actually end up half way down our peaceful little suburban street without hitting anyone or anything. She follows me to our neighbors driveway. She's running, but she's overweight, and now pregnant, and not used to running, so she stops. I end up turning around in a neighbors driveway and speed off down the road to a friends work. I'm freaking out, I'm crying, I think that my mom now wants to kill me.

And here's the kicker. I stop at a stop sign, look both ways, but I'm shaking so hard that even though I see the car, I pull out, and bam. Hit. By a 2006 Ford Mustang. And what am I driving? A 1995 Ford Taurus. Laugh it up, its the only really funny part of this story.

Anyway, it takes a while for my car to work, and two weeks later it dies. But anyway, the cars gone, my things are gone. I have nothing any more. I was homeless for three months in fucking Belton. I lived in a friends room in his parents house. I shared half his dresser and tried to get a job and failed.

Finally, after way too many melodramas and things I don't even want to get into right now, I ended up here.

Things haven't changed too drastically. I'm working kind-of, with my father. Mostly I'm running the errands he does not have the time to do, which is a lot. I'm baby-sitting my little sister and trying to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do with my life.

And, yeah, now I'm tired. This everything has taken so much out of me. I'm just tired.


"I went into the woods
To live deliberately. To front
The essential facts of life
And see if I could not learn
What they had to teach
And when I come to die
Discover I had never lived."

-Henry David Thoreau