We eats the pills we're supposed to eats. Even if they make us sicks. We eats the prenatals, we eats the birth control, we take the hormone-blasts. Why? I dunno. I fear weight gain and mental lapses worse than I already have. Of no concern to the master. "I'll be there for you, no matter what." Didn't believe it, and in the end was right. Out on my ass yet again. None stop cycle of back and forth. Why do I do it to myself? I don't know. I guess I haven't figured out anything better. Plus, maybe there's a love factor-- but at this point I hate to admit it based on the actions. Sometimes,and mine you-- I haven't done this in a long time, but I used to build nests underneath my dad's table. Just by myself in my room. A little fort. I would hide that hard. Behind the deadbolt I've installed on my door, behind the blackened windows-- I would hide under a table in a fort. Do not mistake me for a mentally stable person. Because I'm not. I'm either a picture of perfect, an alcoholic mess or just a manic person hiding under a table. I'm the latter today. Why drink when I get to get all the fucking hormone blasts I don't need? BOOM. Just explode broken uterus, get it over with. He'll be done with me then. I'll pine and be weird, but I'll get over it. I got over Mathew. No I didn't, that's a lie. I never will. What's to be said of the last two years? Would I get over it? I don't know. Haven't got over the last six. It hurts all the time. I go to therapy and stupid fucker just wants to be regaled with my stories-- gives me literally no feedback or anything. Just listens to my stories. Yeah, must have been nice fucking shit to throw in the spank bank. I caught a few glimpses of love though-- like reflections in a wind-chime. I've been fortunate for that.
I've had a shitty attitude lately, I can place blame all over-- but it's just me. I sabotage everything. I wish I could just be normal and take everything like everyone else, but my whole life leading up to this point hasn't been normal and I'm an accumulation of my experiences. They've fucked me up. This isn't to say that's an excuse, it's to say I'm totally fucking weak.
My Dad would be so disappointed.
Seriously, he'd whoop my ass. Hardcore. Maybe that's part of my problem. But overall, I feel paralyzed-- like nothing I do is going anywhere; and when it starts to- I blow it up. I blow it up to save a fucking trip to ride the Jurassic Park ride. I do maintain that it is my life goal. If I can do that, if I can fight through this, then I can fucking accomplish anything. The only sad part is: it is no way advancing me in life. It never will. It's a dead end. I've fought for two years, I don't see why I take so much fucking abuse. I've proven to myself I can have better. YET, I still end up with this shit head who throws me out all the time for one reason or another. This time it was because A. I didn't think it was cool he let three huge drunk dudes into our house at midnight, one of which straight out groped me. He didn't notice because he was to busy showing off his guns to them and letting them pretend shoot them in our house. That's a big no-no for me. If you want a felony, that's on you. Don't fucking implicate me. Watch out for me. Protect me. Don't let monsters in the our house when I'm making dinner. B. Starting on this birthcontrol is making me excessively sick to my stomach-- use a fucking shirt when you smoke weed in the bathroom, or something, clean the vent-- fucking something. If I have to go pee, I don't want to gag on fucking inch thick pot smoke.
Is that too much to ask? In light of being promised fucking everything under the sun? I've gotten none of it, but I ask to be respected in the place I'm supposed to call home. I don't want the fucking dealer over ever single god damned night drunk as fuck and breaking our stuff. I don't want the fucking drunk neighbors over. Past ten-- I don't want anyone I didn't specifically ask over. I don't want it to be OK to ring the door bell 3,000 times when you're drunk at our house. Where the fuck IS that OK? Oh wait, when that doesn't work-- go bang on the windows. For what? Nada. Just to check on his fucking truck and collect god damned money. It's fucking annoying. Every fucking day this guy shows up. I caught him smoking pills in our bathroom. That wasn't enough, HE had to catch him again. And yet, he's still over. Why?! IT'S FREE FUCKING WEED. WTF. Sorry, but that means nothing to me. I don't do drugs. I have, but I just don't anymore. We're approaching thirty-- we can at least pretend to be adults. Go get a medical card if it's that important, you stupid fuck.
But I'm the selfish one. I'm the crazy one. I'm the weird one. Because I want a normal fucking life with a person I care about.