I have learned so much about how little I am worth. I have learned so much about giving up. What I haven't learned is how to kill myself and make it stick. Fear of failure keeps me from trying anymore so I guess I'll just sit around and wait. Until someone kills me, until my parents die, until something happens and I finally really wake up.
I like winter. Long nights alseep laying alone with no interruption. Finally left alone to stew in my own pathetic misery. Disposed of, I can't cause any trouble if I'm not there to annoy anyone. If I don't do anything, no one can be mad at me. If I don't do anything, no one can be mad at me. A madness mantra, repeated as I sleep in the body I hate, soothed by incoherent dreams and the knowledge one day it will be over. One day, somehow, my life will end. And I don't need a Heaven or angels or bliss, just static.
To have no one to hate me... that's the ultimate bliss.
My birthday lingers up ahead, a disaster on the horizon, another thing I don't want to face. I know I have to, know that it'll be a repeat of the screaming fit that was my brother's. His was the first of this month. We went to a dinky little burger place only my dad likes and he watched the TV inside for most of it, and it was bearable until he started in on politics and began chewing my brother out for being in the Air Force. I excused myself to go sit in the car, where I proceeded to have a perfectly stupid moment and rediscover an old razorblade tucked into my jacket pocket. I made a cut in my leg, let the blood drip into my shoe and prayed the ride home would be peaceful. It wasn't.
Thankfully when we got home my dad wanted to watch some football game, so he snapped a few pictures and everyone parted ways. It was the most peaceful birthday we've had in this house for a while, even if my dad did tell my brother about a hundred times how ungrateful he is.
I haven't had a total relapse into cutting, but I see it coming at the rate things are going.
I need to plan out what presents to ask for so I can play my part, fake smiles while anxiety boils over in me. cheerful grin in the photographs not telling you that all I want to do is run and dive under the covers. There's no good that can come of this. Even the presents are planned, not too expensive, not to 'young', things that won't piss off my father or make my brother make a joke because that joke could lead to arguments that'll rattle the walls. I wish we didn't all live in such fear.
Then when I'm done weathering that nightmare there's Thanksgiving.
Damn it, I wish it were January already.
Expect a full ramble about my gender issues in the next entry. This is enough angst for one post.
So, I attempted to leave home. I was in the process of filling out an apartment application when my mom discovered it and did what she does best - emotionally manipulate me. I'm destroying her health. Ruining her life. Spitting in her face. Can't make it on my own. I'm - and these are her exact words - taking a knife and twisting it deeper every day. Then she cried.
I am weak enough that this broke me, so, as I explained to her very clearly, I give up. I just give up. I'm tired of arguing. I give up. Not going to even try anymore. And that has freaked her out enough now she's trying to talk my dad into letting me go back to college. Meanwhile I have, in a stunning display of immaturity, simply sat around and done nothing. I listen to music, I watch TV, I do nothing that would in any way involve anyone else. If I do nothing, then no one can be mad at me. I know that eventually they will have to let me go. All I have to do is outwait them.
And not think about all the time wasted, things I'm not getting to do, places I would like to be and dreams I'm not fulfilling in the meantime.
I played with the layout of my journal a bit. Read through some old entries on a RP comm. And soon I'll sleep, wake up and repeat the process. Indefinitely.
Working on a way to get out of this goddamn house and chase my stupid idealistic dreams where uch dreams lead. The amount of secrecy and fear (what if this fails and I'm stuck here forever) combined with hope (if I get out of this fucking house I am never coming back you'll never see me again mwahaha fuck you) is somehow all worth it when I close my eyes and picture being able to sleep at night without hearing my dad scream obscenities at my mother and brother.
Cautiously optimistic. But if I get out of here, I will shut the up fuck and stop complaining and live life working towards my goals with all joy and due diligence.
My father used to throw away any jewelry I had if he saw it because you could get your necklace caught in something and suffocate and anyone who wears jewelry is a death seeking fool.
My father used to tell me, when I was three and four years old, that if I ran away from home I'd be murdered and chopped into pieces.
My father once had a lost hiker walking by our house arrested because he was clearly a murderer waiting to assault us if we made a wrong move.
I know I will not be a perfect parent. But I will not rule by fear. I will not teach my children that people are monsters waiting for a chance to turn on you and torture you. I will not tell them they are naive idiots because they don't fear everything. My father didn't let us play in the yard for six years because someone could come sweep us away if we were out there.
He claims this is realism.
He also believes we were put here by alien precursors. So you'll forgive me if I don't think he's got a great grip on reality.
But if this is realism, I would rather die a young optimist than live to be a lonely old bitter realist.
I was going to write about the boomerang bigotry my dad has and how he hates his own race, but I think I need to write a much lengthier entry to begin to explain that one. It's a very complicated brand of fucked up.
Spent the night watching Daria DVDs, laughing and generally refusing to give into the urge to angst. Cuddled with my Squirtle plushie, I remembered the old Meowth plushie I'd had and how my father burned it to teach me a lesson about how spoiled I was. He broke a lot of my childhood toys to teach me a lesson. Squirtle is the oldest surviving toy I have left. I saved up my milk money and bought him when I was in kindergarten. Because I bought him with my own savings, Terry has not touched him. It's weird to have a toy from when I was four in my room as I approach twenty this November. Since my dad has a track record of lying, I always thought he'd destroy Squirtle despite his promises not to.
Wherever I go in life, I want to have Squirtle with me, as a reminder of how even basic normalcies like toys were denied me and how I must endeavor to do better in the distant future when I have children. I'd like to pass Squirtle down to my children some day and tell them how this was the only toy I had after a while.
Squirtle Symbolism would make a good band name.
Wrote a bunch of Jon Stewart quotes about optimism and the goodness of mankind on my white wood door in Sharpie. Terry wasn't pleased but did not tell me to remove them. Planning to add more.
I am a legal adult. If I can pull together a plan to leave then, no matter how long it takes or how hard I have to work for it, he cannot stop me. I don't need his permission now. I am not under his reign. I don't need his approval to leave this place.
The problem is that he moved us long ago into a place that is a 15 minute drive to the nearest town, resulting in it being hard to find a job that would cover gas and still have profits. But I would rather work two jobs and get zero sleep than stay.
If it takes every breath in me and I have to work myself into exhaustion, I will leave and never return.
I would rather burn every connection to my father than give into him and be his victim. I would rather be the demon child of the family than sit there and take his abuse for years in silence. I would rather be isolated than be near him.
I would rather be nothing than be part of his life.
I will not blame myself for his actions anymore. I will not reach out to someone who doesn't want to repair any bridges. I will not take this and keep coming back for more. I have tried countless times to make things right and make him happy and talk to him rationally and he either walks away or screams over me.
He told me once he wished he could erase me from his heart.
Three of his children don't talk to him any more. At the rate he's going, me may up that to five.
I'll start calling you Dad when you start acting like it.
My dad has pulled his financial help for this semester of college, effectively setting me back a semester and cancelling all my plans, because I took an hour long walk.
The walk shows that I clearly have no regard for reality or my safety because outside there are rapists and murderers and I didn't even leave a note. How dare I deliberately hurt my parents like that. Because my father is refusing to hear that I lost track of time and it was an accident.
I took a walk, so I lose a semester of college.
And if I'm upset about that I'm being 'a hormonal whiny bitch'.
How is it that everything I do gets me into trouble? Why is every decision a mistake? Why does my every mistake cost me so disproportionately?
Why I was born to this psychotic mess of a father, and why does my mother defend him after he spent an hour screaming at her for my error? He calls us names and rants and screams and she follows him around with unwavering loyalty.
Spent a lovely day at the mall, talking to a friend of mine who works at Claire's, sipping down a Chai tea latte over the course of an hour, chatting with someone who was in my Sociology class last semester whose mom apparently manages the local shoe place, and saying a tearful farewell to the shoes that got me through nearly four years of harsh Montanan weather. I replaced them with similar and hopefully equally sturdy shoes, but some part of me is always sad to part with things. I hate replacing anything and always feel like it's wasting money, but that's just my own complex. I duct taped the shoes for three months before replacing them. I tried.
Anyway, Chai tea lattes are love. Made my day brighter. They're so good I fail to see the appeal of coffee by comparison. My dad was disgusted by how I'm trashing my health. Nevermind that he has a beer and a glass of wine everyday, which has GOT to be equal in calories, and that he's been known to have two screwdrivers before most family events. I am destroying my health via a tea, a tea which I have had two of this entire month. His ability to try to create drama out of nothing is astounding. It's just a tea, dude. Grow up.
Sunday I move in, Monday is college. I really shouldn't be as nervous as I am over this. It's a litte silly to live in such terror of such a benign thing, but I have problems with change. I just have to try and keep it together long enough to get through classes and climb the stairs to my room. So long as I don't break down in public, I tend to be okay.
Also the first person to wake me up at night with their loudness is getting verbally reemed. Having spent a year at a college where security hung up on me twice, someone broke into my room and someone else pooped in the hallway, I have no neighborly niceness left to me. My anxiety can disappear in a hurry when I'm sufficiently pissed off. It's weird, but despite all my shyness there's a core bit of my father's DNA left inside me, and it will surface on ocassion to terrify everyone present. And I'll regret it later. I'll be sorry I yelled. But I won't feel it until the next morning, so I wouldn't suggeat waking me up between the hours of midnight to six unless you want to see a rational human being lose their mind and all self control.
I scare myself sometimes. Hopefully 'quiet hours' will actually be enforced here before I have to snap at anyone. I don't like going into aggressive mode. I'd rather talk through it and wait and just coexist peacefully. I just have a piece of my dad lodged within my personality that can come out without warning, much to my horror. My hope is that I'll be able to have a bearable existance. That's all I hope for.
Well, that and I sort of stumbled out of my transparent closet a while ago and have been blindly fumbling through the concept of dating. The entirety of the reason behind my transfer is to get to the professional, LGBT friendly big college. Unfortunately that also means everyone at this school is really, really cool. I went to get the last leg of paperwork done and lost my ability to speak when a girl in a suit with a neon red-orange-yellow pixie cut asked for my name. I don't have game. "Uh I-I-I'm my name is uh hi I'm Sarah you're pretty." To quote from Kathy Griffin, "I don't have game."
The good news is that despite my father failing on lots of levels as a parent and a modern human being, he doesn't care his youngest daughter likes girls. He hates all people his children date. Your orientation and the gender of your partner is irrelevant. Despite the fact that he and my mother were married to completely different people and had an affair that hurt my half siblings deeply, your relationships suck. Bonus points for him complaining about year or two age differences while being married to someone sixteen years younger than himself.
So in summation: shoes replaced, Chai tea good, dad has no leg to stand on, college move in day ahead, brace for impact.