[Agh, why did you click on this? why are you reading this? I know you're tired of me. don't read anymore. i'm just ranting. please, please, please, no need to respond. it's bound to be too long, anyway. i just need to get some things out before i go back into hours of faking composure.] So kindly do I ask my mother to refrain from talking badly about my father in my presence. Only because whenever she talks about him, she winds up making it sound like it's his fault I'm so screwed up. And I'll admit!, a small percentage of it is. What he did was inexcusable and scarring for all of his children which he made victim. But it's my fucking fault I'm as fucked up as I am today. It's my fucking fault. Stop blaming it on other people and talking to me about me, as if I weren't myself and myself weren't around. Not only does it belittle any progress I've made, but it demeans my very existence by making it sound as if I were some type of character from a relentlessly shitty television show. It's the worse thing she can do. She knows I've been having a hard time dealing lately. She fucking knows it! And what does she do? She kicks me when I'm down. ALWAYS. Why does she do that? Why? Am I so pathetic that it's humorous to make me worse? Is that the case? Because if that's the case, I'd gladly reinforce my happy face and build up the walls from my heart again. It's terrible. She's so terrible. I love her to death, but I don't like her at all. What does she get out of it? She's not even a mother. I want a parent. It sounds shitty and loser-ish, but I want a parent. How do people do it without their parents? I can't do it. I've done it for almost seventeen years but I can't anymore. I'm sorry to whine, but all I've ever wanted was to be able to say: "Hey, Mom, Dad? I've got a problem. Advice?" But it's never even been like that. My grandmother used to give me advice, occasionally. Even though I didn't see her much. Still, I want her back here. Fucking alive. Or I want to go with her. It's painful. It. Me. Everything I say is bound to hurt someone. I can't even be there for anyone as much as I want to. It kills me to not be able to be the wall that people lean on. IT FUCKING KILLS ME. I can't let people lean on me anymore because there's nothing left to lean on. Perhaps this is an episode? Perhaps, perhaps. It's been like this for around a month. It's usually not this bad. I mean, it's bad. But it's never this bad. But it almost seemed to start when I was prescribed the damn mood stabilizers. Maybe something's fucked up. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm fucked up. I hate the word "maybe". I want to know when I can regain control. I loathe the fact that my virginity was torn from me at age 12. And why's it all a blur? And why do I even have the desire to remember something as sick as that? I think I want to know what happened. I hate not knowing. I haven't worked through any of this yet. I thought I had. Lies. For Christ's sake. My hazel eyes turned empty. They couldn't cry for weeks. Confusing as hell. CONFUSING. He stole irreplaceable things from me. I want my body back. I want it back. I'm sick of giving it to people. Or if I'm not giving it to people I'm scorching it and ripping into it with sharp objects per my own accord. I don't know why. I guess I want to hurt people I don't like. I don't like me. I feel like an idiot. I've got to stop investing myself into people that don't reciprocate. Not that I really expect them to reciprocate. It's just that you can't keep milking a cow without ever feeding it. Some people care. I know they do. I appreciate the people that give me the time of day. I appreciate them to the point that it hurts my stomach. I appreciate them to the point that it causes me guilt. I wish I could tell them just how much I appreciate them but it seems words are so limited, lately. That's all I keep saying. I work hard to no end, to get things I don’t even want. I do things that won’t ever reap benefit for me, but I do them because I’m obligated. It’s not my nature to feel so obligated. I’ve always been a drifter. A comme ci comme ca, type of person. I’ve never been tied to things. I’ve been trying to escape that my entire life. Now suddenly, I’m in this realm of routine again, and it’s my fault but I’m being almost outwardly controlled, and I think it’s getting to me. Time keeps ticking by ever so slowly, and yet too quickly for my tastes. I’m wasting all this damned time on a life that isn’t even reasonable. I’m wasting all this time on a life that doesn’t even ask me what I want, a life that doesn’t even ask me what I need. And not that I ever expected it to. Just, for once, I wish I knew something. I don’t know anything. I want to know something. I feel so lied to by the universe. And, I mean, it can’t get much more “emo” than this but it’s the truth and it’s the only truth I know right now. I used to be intelligent and self-contained. It drifted from me at some point. Perhaps when I stopped thinking toward some type of solution and started thinking into space. I mean, maybe my mind slipped when it realized all this thought was really going beyond a purpose. My mind often unconsciously goes into shutdown when it finds out things don’t have a purpose. I think I have a newly-developed fear of abandonment. Or paranoia. I'm all dependent lately. Dependency has always been a phobia of mine. That and losing my mind. Ha. The irony. Nothing left to fear, I guess. So I'm sick of myself. I'm sick all over. I'm decomposing. I am. Maybe I should hasten the process. Please God, I just want my sister to not be like me. She stays so sick. I want her to get better, and I want her to not be like me. Ever.