You don't want to read this
Letters to myself that should be burned. . .
I'm pretty tired. Not so much even physically. Just
tired. I'm tired of being at home and having that feeling
of dread sweep over me like the 300 foot tidal wave that it
is. I instanty feel smothered at the sound of a truck door
slamming at 10:00pm. And then I know what lies next.
Either of two people that I hate will walk through the
door. The one that is happy is always the worst. He comes
in and wants to be my friend. Tries to act like he's my
buddy and all. I feel like telling him to screw off.
Actually, screw wouldn't exactly be the word used there. I
don't want his happiness and I don't want whatever he wants
to give me at all. I really hate his every being and fiber
at that moment and wish he would drop dead in front of me.
But that never happens. He just stands there swaying back
and forth to the shakyness of his own life. And wreaks of
alcohol. And that has become one of the smells I can't be
around without that tidalwave hitting me again. I can't
say that I'd be all that upset if he did clutch his chest,
fall on the floor, and die right there in front of me.
What would I do? Seriously. Would I even call 911 or help
him with CPR? I honestly don't know. Now that I think about it, I'm
not sure why I cried when I was in England when he was so sick. I
think I cried for my mom. This sounds horrible but I wish he would
just die sometimes. That really sounds bad. I shouldn't even say
that. But even so, I can't help but feel that way most of the
He never changes. Wait, yes he does, he gets worse. And
for some reason, my mom is under the dillusion that he is
going to magically turn from his evil ways and become this
wonderful, whole, caring, loving, father and husband. I
doubt that he will. Ever. And isn't it a little late for
that now anyhow? I don't think he even cares that he has
screwed me up seriously. He really has no clue. He
ignores the fact that what he does devistaes the lives of
those around him. I say I don't care and want to never see
him and yet what he does still makes me cry. It still
grabs me by the throat and chokes me. Even now that I am
18 and don't even live there. I thought that moving out
would help me to escape it but it didn't. I think it's
No one knows. No one really knows what goes on with me.
No one knows what I feel like except for these stupid
notebooks I babble on to. I feel so horrible and want to
tell someone but seem to not be able to ever. I can't even
cry about it most of the time. I don't even allow myself
that. I put us a huge brick wall and put no tresspassing
signs all over the whole freakin thing. I try to play
things off by laughing at them even though I don't find
them funny at all. God, I want to just cry. I want to
scream at the top of my lungs and just sob and sob until I
feel like I'm going to pass out or go crazy or both. Hell,
I'm already at crazy. Or at least half way there. If I
keep living like this, I'll be dead soon. Maybe not
physiacally but in my mind I won't be there anymore. I
don't know that I can see myself desperate enough to kill
myself. I guess I'm capable. I'm sure that in a few
months this will get deeper and I will fall deeper. Just
the fact that I can feel worse than this scares me more
than anything. Christmas and Thanksgiving are coming
soon. Those always grab me, throw me up against 5 or 6
concrete walls and then leave me for dead. And if I
already feel this way, what is it going to be like in 2
months? I want to avoid life completely and get a new
one. I need a new life. One that doesn't involve this
constancy of, I don't know what it is.
It really bothers me that I can't tell my mom any of this.
That makes me the saddest. I can't tell her because it
would break her heart and devistate her. I don't want
that. I wouldn't be able to handle hurting her like that.
I feel bad even thinking about telling her. I just can't
do it. I also know I can't go on living in this. She is
my closest friend and knows the most about me but I can't
bring myself to tell her the most important thing about
me. She knows more about me than anyone and yet she knows
absolutly nothing at all. I hate that. I absolutly hate
it. Maybe she does know something and just doesn't say
anything about it. Or not. I don't know. We never talk
about it. I want her to know. I do, I really want her
to. Every time I talk to her, I want to tell her. I want
to not act like I always do with everyone and I want to not
be fake. And she even asks me what's wrong and my reply is
always nothing. I hate saying that. I say that to
everyone. It's such a lie. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
I really hate that. I say it and mean to scream -
EVERYTHING!!!! I know people care. I know they want to
help me. But I just say nothing. And I hate it.