This year for christmas my mother was nice enough to bless me with a pair of high heels, pink lipstick, a tshirt two sizes too small, and a phone that I can't use because it wasn't purchased from verizon.
She became irritated when I asked for the reciept. She then took back my presents and screamed that she would just use the money to buy herself another pair of boots, because she 'needs' a brown pair.
My mother is quite possibly the most wasteful, selfish whore I know. She has over twenty pairs of shoes that she never wears, buys herself a new cell phone every few months, recently bought a new car that only gets 12 miles to the gallon, wears an enormous amount of makeup, has gotten plastic surgery on her breasts, goes out to eat lunch EVERY DAY, has over thirty purses, and buys a new one every week or so. Her and my eight year old brother, who is also as spoiled, hateful, and selfish as she is, live in a four bedroom, three story house. Two people live in this house. In front of this house sits three cars, all of which my mother owns. My brother has a two hundred dollar stereo in his room, which he never uses. He also has a playstation 2, a psp, two cellphones,(one for home and one for emergencies WTF) My eight year old brother has a pet golden retriever, which is currently starving to death. My brother weighs more than I do (122 lbs!) and is much much shorter than me. My mom takes him along with her to the tanning bed, and both of them sport a nice, hideous burnt toast color. He eats fast food every day, and school food as well, which isnt much healthier. My little brother is violent, loud, annoying, greedy, and heartless. just like my mother.
They have so much money.
I do not. I live with my abusive father and his phsychotic wife in a two bedroom apartment along with a stepsister, who is so homophobic that she won't let me sleep in her bed. I sleep in the floor. We can't afford food half the time. I take a shower every other day, not because i don't need to shower often, but because we can't afford to take showers every day. I pay my own cell phone bill. i do not have a car. I have a nintendo ds, but only because a friend of mine was nice enough to give one to me for my last birthday. I have a record player, which I bought for twenty bucks at a yard sale. I have a vcr player. I have a tape player. I used to have a guitar, but I had to sell it so I could help my dad pay the rent for the apartment. I walk to school while everyone else drives. I can't afford school lunch. I have four pairs of shoes, three of which were purchased at a goodwill. I don't have a purse. I've used the same backpack since I was in sixth grade.
I find it strange how people like my mother and my brother have no idea how to distinguish between 'need' and 'want.' They want things, but say they need them. They throw away money on things they want, but will not lend a dollar to people in need. (like myself)
Sigh. My father gave me a video game for a game system I do not possess. My stepmom gave me a pair of toe socks. My stepsister gave me a kids bop cd, the beatles edition. I wanted to scream.
What is it with my family and horrible gifts?
Ugh. I splurged. I had to. I took my paycheck and bought for myself a heavy wool coat and a bag of fortune cookies. I sat for hours, just opening the fortune cookies and reading my fortunes. I fed the cookies to my brother's starving dog, and felt a little bit better about myself.
Happy holidays. I hope yours was better than mine.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Satanism is the best thing thats ever happened to me
Ok. I'm not saying any religion is better. I respect people's beliefs, and for the most part, am very polite. I don't bash people, and usually, people are civil, and they don't bash me.
Throughout my life, I've struggled with religion. When I was a kid, my parents dragged me into Christianity. They forced me into dresses and shoes that were too small for my feet. They made me grow my hair out long, because that was feminine, and then they would fix it every sunday, so I would look good and presentable for the masses. They made me pray before meals, before bedtime, which I thought, even then, was kind of silly. They told me that a man called jesus was always watching me, and that if I didn't be careful and be good, all the time, then I would go to a place underground and burn and be tortured- forever.
I was told this often. It depressed me, the fact that I was only about seven or eight years old (i can't remember the exact age) and I had already sinned so much, that I could never really redeem myself and be perfect.
When i was nine, I was sent to a vacation bible school. When I went there, I immediately realized that I was different. According to these people, I was a 'heathen' who was nothing in the eyes of the lord. I hadn't been baptized, cleansed of my sins.
People excluded me because of this. None of the other kids would talk to me. It made me feel horrible. So I did what most kids do when they want to be accepted- I conformed. I didn't even realize what I was doing at first. It was during the 'closing prayer' at the end of the service, and the youth pastor said, " Anyone who has not been baptized, saved from their sins, please come forward"
And I came foreward. I didn't really know what was going on. The pastor asked me if I was ready to become well, to accept Jesus into my heart, and I, a nervous little girl, said yes. I didn't even know what it meant. It was in front of all those people...and I liked it, how they cheered when I said yes, how people slapped me on the back, told me how great I was. I liked how people suddenly started talking to me, how kids came knocking at my door, asking me to come play with them.
So I was baptized. It was in the spring. I was nine. I still didn't really understand. My parents spent hours fixing my hair just so I could be dunked underwater in a heavy robe. Afterwards, i changed into a low cut shirt and a leopard print miniskirt. People patted me on the back and praised me.
I didn't understand.
When I was eleven, I started reading the bible. Immediately, I distrusted it. It just didn't make sense to me. It went against all the science I had been taught in school, and all logic that I knew.
but I didn't say anything. It didn't matter anyway. After three years of kids hanging around me just because I was a christian, they started to look closer. They didn't like me anymore. I may have been christian, but they knew I was different.
I converted to athiesm. It caused many fights, with friends and family. I was depressed. I attempted suicide, many times, and failed, all before i turned fifteen.
Atheism, to me, didn't feel right. it felt better than Christianity, but it wasn't me. It wasn't anything really. To me it was like this big arguement, this big fight, going against everything, snarling and snapping at everyone, "No! You're wrong! You're ALL wrong!"
When i was fifteen, a friend of mine was arrested for narcotics possesion. I wasn't surprised. He was big pill popper, and bought heroin, cocaine, and hallucinogens.
His parents threw away all of his possesions, all his books and clothes. He called me, crying, the day after he was arrested, telling me to 'save his books.'
I went by his house and collected an armload of books from the curb. Among them, was the Satanic Bible, written by Anton lavey.
It caught my attention. Out of curiosity, i cracked it open.
My life changed. My personality changed. I became quieter, speaking only when i felt absolutely nessessary. I was polite, focused, and intense. I held respect for those who respected me, and disdain for loud, ignorant people. I stopped paying attention to what other people thought about me, I still indulged in drugs every now and then, yes, but somehow, through doing drugs only when i wanted to, instead of when i needed to, I weaned myself of them completely. My grades got higher. I felt better. I felt accepted.
I became a laveyan satanist.
For a while, people didn't even know. My parents knew, and they still scoffed at me whenever it was mentioned (which wasnt often) but other than that, not many people knew.
But of course, people always find out. Someone noticed my inverted cross necklace, which i wore at all times, usually hidden under my shirt, more for my comfort than anything. And then they started asking. They got curious. Rumors were started.
But the funniest thing was that they weren't true. I was a satanist, but I didn't kill babies. I didn't drink blood. I didn't burn churches or break into homes at night. I didn't deal drugs or corrupt children. I didn't perform 'satanic' rituals or participate in orgies. In fact, I was quite the opposite. I got good grades and read and pretty much kept to myself. I spoke intelligently and painted beautiful pictures that made the art teacher swoon and exclaim over my talent. I wrote morbid short stories, and was referred by several teachers to go to a special school for writers such as myself. I played the violin, rather well, despite the fact that I performed in combat boots, and dark sunglasses. I didn't cake on makeup, or wear clothes that were too revealing. Although I like both girls and boys, I didn't chase after them like most people do. I wasn't boy or girl crazy. People generally liked me, although they didn't believe in what i believed in.
You could say that converting to satanism is the best decision that I've ever made. I'm so much happier now. It's a lot easier to be happy and let other people have their beliefs and be happy when you've got something of your own that you truly believe in.
I think, when i turn eighteen, I'm going to get a tattoo of the inverted cross on my shoulder. Just a small one, on my shoulderblade, so it'll be easier to cover up and hide. It'll just be a little reminder, my safety blanket, something I can look at when i'm feeling nervous or sad. It'll be something to comfort me, make me happy. I want to be a phsychiatrist, so it'll have to be something I can hide under work clothes. I'm not ashamed of my religion, but I don't think it'd go over too well with clients.
I'm not trying to convert anybody. I'm just tired of the bad reputation satanism's getting. It's mostly a lot of 'goth' kids wanting to shock, painting inverted crosses on their foreheads and wearing pentagrams, being general assholes. Not all of them are, but a great deal of them are rude and ignorant, spewing expected comments about drinking bats blood and killing sheep and murdering their parents. It's people like that that make everyone think satanists are horrible, and evil.
I'm not like that though. And I don't know any real satanists that are. Most of us are intelligent people who dress just like normal and pretty much are normal.
As I said before, I'm not trying to convert anybody. Some people aren't interested in religion.
But if you are.....
http://www.churchofsatan.com/
Here you go. :)
Throughout my life, I've struggled with religion. When I was a kid, my parents dragged me into Christianity. They forced me into dresses and shoes that were too small for my feet. They made me grow my hair out long, because that was feminine, and then they would fix it every sunday, so I would look good and presentable for the masses. They made me pray before meals, before bedtime, which I thought, even then, was kind of silly. They told me that a man called jesus was always watching me, and that if I didn't be careful and be good, all the time, then I would go to a place underground and burn and be tortured- forever.
I was told this often. It depressed me, the fact that I was only about seven or eight years old (i can't remember the exact age) and I had already sinned so much, that I could never really redeem myself and be perfect.
When i was nine, I was sent to a vacation bible school. When I went there, I immediately realized that I was different. According to these people, I was a 'heathen' who was nothing in the eyes of the lord. I hadn't been baptized, cleansed of my sins.
People excluded me because of this. None of the other kids would talk to me. It made me feel horrible. So I did what most kids do when they want to be accepted- I conformed. I didn't even realize what I was doing at first. It was during the 'closing prayer' at the end of the service, and the youth pastor said, " Anyone who has not been baptized, saved from their sins, please come forward"
And I came foreward. I didn't really know what was going on. The pastor asked me if I was ready to become well, to accept Jesus into my heart, and I, a nervous little girl, said yes. I didn't even know what it meant. It was in front of all those people...and I liked it, how they cheered when I said yes, how people slapped me on the back, told me how great I was. I liked how people suddenly started talking to me, how kids came knocking at my door, asking me to come play with them.
So I was baptized. It was in the spring. I was nine. I still didn't really understand. My parents spent hours fixing my hair just so I could be dunked underwater in a heavy robe. Afterwards, i changed into a low cut shirt and a leopard print miniskirt. People patted me on the back and praised me.
I didn't understand.
When I was eleven, I started reading the bible. Immediately, I distrusted it. It just didn't make sense to me. It went against all the science I had been taught in school, and all logic that I knew.
but I didn't say anything. It didn't matter anyway. After three years of kids hanging around me just because I was a christian, they started to look closer. They didn't like me anymore. I may have been christian, but they knew I was different.
I converted to athiesm. It caused many fights, with friends and family. I was depressed. I attempted suicide, many times, and failed, all before i turned fifteen.
Atheism, to me, didn't feel right. it felt better than Christianity, but it wasn't me. It wasn't anything really. To me it was like this big arguement, this big fight, going against everything, snarling and snapping at everyone, "No! You're wrong! You're ALL wrong!"
When i was fifteen, a friend of mine was arrested for narcotics possesion. I wasn't surprised. He was big pill popper, and bought heroin, cocaine, and hallucinogens.
His parents threw away all of his possesions, all his books and clothes. He called me, crying, the day after he was arrested, telling me to 'save his books.'
I went by his house and collected an armload of books from the curb. Among them, was the Satanic Bible, written by Anton lavey.
It caught my attention. Out of curiosity, i cracked it open.
My life changed. My personality changed. I became quieter, speaking only when i felt absolutely nessessary. I was polite, focused, and intense. I held respect for those who respected me, and disdain for loud, ignorant people. I stopped paying attention to what other people thought about me, I still indulged in drugs every now and then, yes, but somehow, through doing drugs only when i wanted to, instead of when i needed to, I weaned myself of them completely. My grades got higher. I felt better. I felt accepted.
I became a laveyan satanist.
For a while, people didn't even know. My parents knew, and they still scoffed at me whenever it was mentioned (which wasnt often) but other than that, not many people knew.
But of course, people always find out. Someone noticed my inverted cross necklace, which i wore at all times, usually hidden under my shirt, more for my comfort than anything. And then they started asking. They got curious. Rumors were started.
But the funniest thing was that they weren't true. I was a satanist, but I didn't kill babies. I didn't drink blood. I didn't burn churches or break into homes at night. I didn't deal drugs or corrupt children. I didn't perform 'satanic' rituals or participate in orgies. In fact, I was quite the opposite. I got good grades and read and pretty much kept to myself. I spoke intelligently and painted beautiful pictures that made the art teacher swoon and exclaim over my talent. I wrote morbid short stories, and was referred by several teachers to go to a special school for writers such as myself. I played the violin, rather well, despite the fact that I performed in combat boots, and dark sunglasses. I didn't cake on makeup, or wear clothes that were too revealing. Although I like both girls and boys, I didn't chase after them like most people do. I wasn't boy or girl crazy. People generally liked me, although they didn't believe in what i believed in.
You could say that converting to satanism is the best decision that I've ever made. I'm so much happier now. It's a lot easier to be happy and let other people have their beliefs and be happy when you've got something of your own that you truly believe in.
I think, when i turn eighteen, I'm going to get a tattoo of the inverted cross on my shoulder. Just a small one, on my shoulderblade, so it'll be easier to cover up and hide. It'll just be a little reminder, my safety blanket, something I can look at when i'm feeling nervous or sad. It'll be something to comfort me, make me happy. I want to be a phsychiatrist, so it'll have to be something I can hide under work clothes. I'm not ashamed of my religion, but I don't think it'd go over too well with clients.
I'm not trying to convert anybody. I'm just tired of the bad reputation satanism's getting. It's mostly a lot of 'goth' kids wanting to shock, painting inverted crosses on their foreheads and wearing pentagrams, being general assholes. Not all of them are, but a great deal of them are rude and ignorant, spewing expected comments about drinking bats blood and killing sheep and murdering their parents. It's people like that that make everyone think satanists are horrible, and evil.
I'm not like that though. And I don't know any real satanists that are. Most of us are intelligent people who dress just like normal and pretty much are normal.
As I said before, I'm not trying to convert anybody. Some people aren't interested in religion.
But if you are.....
http://www.churchofsatan.com/
Here you go. :)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Things I notice
Things my mom says when she's drunk:
"Let me tell you a secret."
Things people automatcally do:
Accredit my bad mood to my period, which is strange because I don't get one.
....Thats all for now. Not much has been going on except for the fact that I got off probation, and have since then been subsisting on poprocks, which has surprisingly gotten me down a size.
Whoo. fun. anorexia.
"Let me tell you a secret."
Things people automatcally do:
Accredit my bad mood to my period, which is strange because I don't get one.
....Thats all for now. Not much has been going on except for the fact that I got off probation, and have since then been subsisting on poprocks, which has surprisingly gotten me down a size.
Whoo. fun. anorexia.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Goal reached.
Goal one was reached. I lost 5 pounds on a three day fast.
I celebrated by eating an apple this morning with my daily coffee, and by accepting a cookie from a skinny pothead friend who's always trying to offer me food.
I ended this celebratory school day by smiling a big, wide smile, at a joke someone had told me, and then preceded to laugh, and grin, until the skin on my cracked, chapped lips tore and bled.
I stumble home in a daze. I eat a strawberry poptart covered in peanut butter, for energy. I wash it down with green tea/koolaid and bring it back up. I weigh myself.
Before the food, I was a much sought after 125 lbs. After, I'm a hideous 128.
Ah well. I suppose we all have our days where we allow ourselves to eat.
...I haven't even started this anorexia thing again (yet) and already people are asking me if I'm ok. They say, "You're really pale" or some shit.
I don't really feel like writing. I don't feel like talking either. But it's funny how just as soon as you feel like shit, EVERYONE suddenly wants to talk to you, text you, and whatnot.
A rather sad example of this is my girlfriend. She wants to hang out with me soon. I feel like shit. I don't want to see her.
This outburst of cynical thoughts has made me question our relationship. I barely know her. She doesn't seem to really have an interest in me.
Cynical me says "BREAK UP"
Nice me says "DON'T YOU'LL HURT HER"
Blah. I have no idea what to do. I'm fucking sick and tired. Of everything. Drugs, anorexia, and bipolar disorder. I'm done. I'm going to go take a bottle of ambien, pass out for a few days...
I celebrated by eating an apple this morning with my daily coffee, and by accepting a cookie from a skinny pothead friend who's always trying to offer me food.
I ended this celebratory school day by smiling a big, wide smile, at a joke someone had told me, and then preceded to laugh, and grin, until the skin on my cracked, chapped lips tore and bled.
I stumble home in a daze. I eat a strawberry poptart covered in peanut butter, for energy. I wash it down with green tea/koolaid and bring it back up. I weigh myself.
Before the food, I was a much sought after 125 lbs. After, I'm a hideous 128.
Ah well. I suppose we all have our days where we allow ourselves to eat.
...I haven't even started this anorexia thing again (yet) and already people are asking me if I'm ok. They say, "You're really pale" or some shit.
I don't really feel like writing. I don't feel like talking either. But it's funny how just as soon as you feel like shit, EVERYONE suddenly wants to talk to you, text you, and whatnot.
A rather sad example of this is my girlfriend. She wants to hang out with me soon. I feel like shit. I don't want to see her.
This outburst of cynical thoughts has made me question our relationship. I barely know her. She doesn't seem to really have an interest in me.
Cynical me says "BREAK UP"
Nice me says "DON'T YOU'LL HURT HER"
Blah. I have no idea what to do. I'm fucking sick and tired. Of everything. Drugs, anorexia, and bipolar disorder. I'm done. I'm going to go take a bottle of ambien, pass out for a few days...
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Good things in life.
After a horrible yesterday, I think I'm going to count my blessings...
1. Airwalks. Not the new, converse wannabe ones. The old, suede ones. I have a purple pair. They're sophisticated AND kickass.
2. Bi-lo. I live within walking distance of one. I have more fun hanging out in a bi-lo than I do anywhere else.
3. Splenda. It's delicious.
4. The salvation army. I have $5. Books there are $0.10 each. That's fifty books :D
5. Mesh. It's sexy. And warm ^-^
6. Having a best friend to drive you to the hospital. This comes in handy.
7. Electronic scales. I has one.
8. Amenorrhea. A good side effect of anorexia. I fucking love it.
9. Climbing on counters. I love doing this. I'm short. (5'2) So sometimes the only way to get things is to climb on counters. Plus, it makes me feel cute.
10. Having fluffy, white blonde hair. Also makes me feel childish and cute. People come up to me and mess with it all the time. Fluff me up. Combined with my bright red lips, translucent skin, and my shortness, it makes me look like a preteen on crack. I love it :D
11. Flannel. It's cheap, warm, and comes in pretty colors, Like faded, bleached out, and stained. ;)
12. Goodwill. Overflowing with flannel. And trenchcoats.
13. Combat boots. They're expensive, but comfortable.
14. Playing violin.
15. Ambien. Holy crap. Without this stuff i'd never get to sleep.
thats about it. There's not many good things in my life, but the few things are pretty damn good :)
1. Airwalks. Not the new, converse wannabe ones. The old, suede ones. I have a purple pair. They're sophisticated AND kickass.
2. Bi-lo. I live within walking distance of one. I have more fun hanging out in a bi-lo than I do anywhere else.
3. Splenda. It's delicious.
4. The salvation army. I have $5. Books there are $0.10 each. That's fifty books :D
5. Mesh. It's sexy. And warm ^-^
6. Having a best friend to drive you to the hospital. This comes in handy.
7. Electronic scales. I has one.
8. Amenorrhea. A good side effect of anorexia. I fucking love it.
9. Climbing on counters. I love doing this. I'm short. (5'2) So sometimes the only way to get things is to climb on counters. Plus, it makes me feel cute.
10. Having fluffy, white blonde hair. Also makes me feel childish and cute. People come up to me and mess with it all the time. Fluff me up. Combined with my bright red lips, translucent skin, and my shortness, it makes me look like a preteen on crack. I love it :D
11. Flannel. It's cheap, warm, and comes in pretty colors, Like faded, bleached out, and stained. ;)
12. Goodwill. Overflowing with flannel. And trenchcoats.
13. Combat boots. They're expensive, but comfortable.
14. Playing violin.
15. Ambien. Holy crap. Without this stuff i'd never get to sleep.
thats about it. There's not many good things in my life, but the few things are pretty damn good :)
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
It's not you, it's me.
People need to come out of their fucking shell. Get out of their pathetic social circle full of insecure, desperate people and get with an intellectual. It just irritates the FUCK out of me to go to school and see all these girls in their 'trendy', expensive clothing, about half of them donning peace signs and the colors of the jamacian flag. They babble about their boyfriends, the relationships which last a month at the most, their 'horrible' lives, how 'fat' they are, their bubblegum music, how much of a 'slut' or a 'whore' another girl is, the appearances of other girls, their own appearances, and so many more things that are so pointless, that i don't even feel the need to list them all. You know what they are.
But these girls, they are such hipocrites. They wear leather shoes and then a tshirt boasting their love for animals. Save the whales, and all that nonsense. Yet, they also have a face plastered with makeup, concealer, eyeliner, mascara, and the like, makeup which is most likely made from harvested whale fat, animal product.
And the makeup. *shudders* I go to school and see fourteen year old girls painted up like whores, women who would go and stand on a street corner on friday and saturday nights. It disgusts me. I see ghostly white, stick thin, prepubescent girls, with so much blush on their cheeks that they look flushed, as if they are feverous. I see girls with so much coverup on their faces that they look unnaturally smooth, like sand blasted statuettes made of plastic.
It irritates me, and makes me tired. Makes me want to curl up and dissapear.
Snarl. Angry. Growl. I hate this fucking apartment. I hate coming home from school and seeing my dad sitting in the floor, playing video games, tears running down his face. I hate coming home to an empty kitchen, not a scrap of food in the entire apartment. I hate laying awake at night, listening to the noises of animated machine gun fire, the screams of victims in assorted horror movies, the sound of insomnia in the apartment. I hate hearing my dad and his wife fighting, her screaming like a phsychotic siren. I hate having to search for my sleeping pills every night, because my dad hides them so his wife won't take them. I hate having to take sleeping pills. I hate it when my stepmom takes her daughter and fucking dissapears. I hate how she takes my things and insults me behind my back and generally makes me feel how i'm not welcome here. I hate how, when my stepmom and her daughter are around, my dad ignores me and treats me like nothing. I hate it when he gets angry and starts picking on me, his prods and pokes slowly escalating until they're hot ashes from a ciggerette, being flicked onto my bare arms and neck, and then shoves, throwing me into the floor or into chairs and tables. I hate how his blows turn into punches landing into my stomach and ribs, darting once or twice to my face, leaving bruises and purpling my eyes. I hate how he insults me, dismissing it later as 'I was just playing' when he obviously wasn't. I hate it how no one in the whole goddamn apartment says anything, and how they never have. I hate it how, when I get depressed, people tell me to talk to them, tell them what's wrong, and when I do, they get mad and tell me that I don't have any real problems, that Im just wanting fucking attention.
But I don't. I don't want any attention. I would be fine with being all by myself, alone, and wailing and screaming and crying. I would be fine with wearing long jackets all year long to cover up my arms and bruises and wounds. I would be fine with snorting my lines and popping my pills and dealing with it on my own terms.
Most of all though, I hate how I can't hit him back. I hate how if I do, I'll be reported and sent back to jail, for at least six months. No hearing. Nothing.
I believe that's the thing I hate most in the world. Not being able to do anything about anything.
But these girls, they are such hipocrites. They wear leather shoes and then a tshirt boasting their love for animals. Save the whales, and all that nonsense. Yet, they also have a face plastered with makeup, concealer, eyeliner, mascara, and the like, makeup which is most likely made from harvested whale fat, animal product.
And the makeup. *shudders* I go to school and see fourteen year old girls painted up like whores, women who would go and stand on a street corner on friday and saturday nights. It disgusts me. I see ghostly white, stick thin, prepubescent girls, with so much blush on their cheeks that they look flushed, as if they are feverous. I see girls with so much coverup on their faces that they look unnaturally smooth, like sand blasted statuettes made of plastic.
It irritates me, and makes me tired. Makes me want to curl up and dissapear.
Snarl. Angry. Growl. I hate this fucking apartment. I hate coming home from school and seeing my dad sitting in the floor, playing video games, tears running down his face. I hate coming home to an empty kitchen, not a scrap of food in the entire apartment. I hate laying awake at night, listening to the noises of animated machine gun fire, the screams of victims in assorted horror movies, the sound of insomnia in the apartment. I hate hearing my dad and his wife fighting, her screaming like a phsychotic siren. I hate having to search for my sleeping pills every night, because my dad hides them so his wife won't take them. I hate having to take sleeping pills. I hate it when my stepmom takes her daughter and fucking dissapears. I hate how she takes my things and insults me behind my back and generally makes me feel how i'm not welcome here. I hate how, when my stepmom and her daughter are around, my dad ignores me and treats me like nothing. I hate it when he gets angry and starts picking on me, his prods and pokes slowly escalating until they're hot ashes from a ciggerette, being flicked onto my bare arms and neck, and then shoves, throwing me into the floor or into chairs and tables. I hate how his blows turn into punches landing into my stomach and ribs, darting once or twice to my face, leaving bruises and purpling my eyes. I hate how he insults me, dismissing it later as 'I was just playing' when he obviously wasn't. I hate it how no one in the whole goddamn apartment says anything, and how they never have. I hate it how, when I get depressed, people tell me to talk to them, tell them what's wrong, and when I do, they get mad and tell me that I don't have any real problems, that Im just wanting fucking attention.
But I don't. I don't want any attention. I would be fine with being all by myself, alone, and wailing and screaming and crying. I would be fine with wearing long jackets all year long to cover up my arms and bruises and wounds. I would be fine with snorting my lines and popping my pills and dealing with it on my own terms.
Most of all though, I hate how I can't hit him back. I hate how if I do, I'll be reported and sent back to jail, for at least six months. No hearing. Nothing.
I believe that's the thing I hate most in the world. Not being able to do anything about anything.
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