Jaded

All For Them...

Diary,

Well, after that little hostile - but cleansing - entry
the other day, I feel somewhat refreshed. Oh sure, maybe
not entirely - maybe I'll NEVER feel entirely better, for
all I now - but it is something to be thankful for. I think
that today, I will be able to explain a little bit more
rationally, even though it will all amount to the same
thing.
First, however, some good news. Or as good as news around
here can be. :) I'm going to the Huntington Mall tomorrow!
See, where I live, there is but one really shitty mall that
has only gay stores that I don't like. I go there
occassionally to hang out, but all these preps from school
are there and it just, more or less, disgusts me. So, this
Huntington Mall is only about 45 minutes from here, but
when your parents are the ones who have to take you, stay
there while you and a friend run around for quite some time
(but not long enough so that mom can just go home wait a few
hours and come back), and then drive back, it doesn't happen
often. Needless to say, it's a hassle - and stressful
sometimes. So, going there occassionally for school
shopping or blowing a nice little chunk of money can be
cool. It's like getting a present. When I can drive, it
won't be as cool because I'll get tired of it, so I'll enjoy
it while I can.
Back to explaining that entry the other day, Diary. Okay,
let's start at what I will refer to as "the beginning". Up
until the fifth - no, I'm sorry, fourth - grade, I was your
average kid: a little more morbid than most, but hey, ya
know? Then, my dad got a brain tumor the size of texas - it
filled his entire skull, nasal cavity and all! Well,
sparing you all the boring details, there were surgeries and
a lot of stress, and a lot of school skipped, and a lot of
suppers gone without - and a lot of pain. From the 4th to
the 6th grade, I lived in a little blur. Colors blended
with colors, noise with noise, sites with sites. I guess
that's when I started to get moody. And, if mine and my
mom's theories are correct, when my dad started being an
asshole. After it was clear he wouldn't die (the tumor was
benign but was so big that it was more dangerous than some
malignant tumors!), and after they had removed his pituitary
gland, my daddy came home. He took lots of medication,
still does, but for a short while, it was enough to have him
there and to see him w/out tubes and wires. Then, fully
recuperated, more bad luck hit our family. My mom lost her
nursing license - while my dad had been in the hospital, my
mom had been working and had turned in her reinstatement
license thingy a few days late. The Kentucky Board of
Nursing is just now giving her her license - about 3 years
later. During this period, we didn't have a lot of money
and my parents argued (or should I say we DON'T have a lot
of money and my parents always ARGUE ?) all the time.
Mostly about money and my mom's many imagined faults. My
dad became convinced that she had a lover, was hiding money,
bills, everything! One day, my dad hit my mom. I didn't
know it at the time, but I think that's when the shit really
hit the fan for me. I lost all respect, but still clung to
memories of being a Daddy's Girl, riding everywhere in his
truck, laughing and playing. Well, last summer and more
recently, I think is when it really got truly unbearable for
me. I had begun to get surlier and surlier - who wouldn't
under my conditions? - and my dad was constantly mad at me
and so was my mom. My room was never QUITE clean enough, I
never spent enough time with them, I hung out with my
friends too much, etc. So, everyday, I come home to
shouting and screaming and angry voices. My brother and dad
fought 24/7 - sometimes not just verbally. My bro is a big
boy and he hit my dad back a lot. One time, he really
threatened suicide. I developed migrain headaches and an
ulcer - still have them. My mom threatened suicide. Hell,
I'VE threatened suicide. Last summer, my dad broke my
piano. MY PIANO! I love my piano - love it as much as I
love anything almost - and he BROKE it because he was mad at
my mom. I ran away and went to a friend's house. Stayed
there for a week. He apologized to my mom but never to me.
Never to me. That was when I stopped loving him. That was
when Daddy died. A man named Ron may live with me - a man
who looks frighteningly like my daddy - but he isn't my
father. During this past school year I was talking on the
phone after school when my dad came in and apparently didn't
answer a question with the proper tone - unbeknownst to me
because I was simply destracted! - and my dad issued his
first act of violence against ME! (and last, might I add?)
He tore the phone from my ear, ripping a lock of hair out
with it and killing my ear, and spiked it. I ran. I ran as
fast as possible. He followed and yelled and raised his
fist several times, never hit me, but I think it was that he
didn't just get it over with. I ran away. Not to anyone -
just away. Out the door and down the road. Sandals, jeans,
and a t-shirt. It was all I planned to take. I ran down a
deserted road, hearing my father - my DADDY - screaming that
if I kept running, he might just shoot me! No one else
knows he threatened to shoot me - but he did. And I know in
my heart he meant it. Suddenly, his truck barrelled past
and I lunged in a ditch. He screamed out his truck window
until I had no choice but to climb in. He took me home and
lied to my mom. I tried to tell her and she believed me -
but never out loud. Just, ok ron. Now, my "father" tries
to make up to me for treating me and everyone else like shit
24/7 and everyone else might buy into his Brady Bunch deal -
but not me. I'd rather let him kill me first. I think this
is the biggest reason that I'm under stress. Not to
mention the big thing the other day. If my parents need to
vent a little, they go to Erin. They yell at the girl who
really can't do much more. The one who makes straight As,
the one who's playing a sport she didn't want to play just
to make them happy. It's always Erin. And when I try to
tell them - tell them everything - they don't listen. They
deny it. They lie and say that it isn't true! How can
they? So now my dad and my mom are always asking me 'what's
wrong' and 'do you need prof. help?' and shit like that.
Sometimes I want to try to tell them again - but I know it
won't do any good. And sometimes I want to let my guard
down and let people see what's underneath the eyes that
refuse to meet theirs and the smile that isn't real. So,
Diary, do you understand? There is too much stress on my
own little shoulders. I'm keeping my grades up for me, I'm
doing everything else for THEM. My grades aren't a problem,
it all comes natural. Everything else - the volleyball, the
strained smiles and laughs, the biting glances when I think
noone can see me, the tears at night b/c I don't know where
I'm going or if I even want to get there - it's all for
someone else. And sometimes I don't think it's fair.
Well, that was senselessly long. But, again, I feel a
little bit better for having told that story. All of it.
And thanks again to that feedback that I got the other day -
it does help a lot. And to anyone who is still actually
reading, if you have problems, go ahead and tell someone.
Or write it down. Or do something with them. Don't let
them brood inside. Well, I love ya'll and peace out!