dis·so·nance (4-1-2018)

Awareness, fathers, fuck you, Future, home, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, no trust, Partner, Personal, Relationships

Have you ever done something and not really understood why you did it? As your hand approaches your mouth with the pills weighing in your palm, and that voice inside your head is saying don’t, yet they make it into your mouth and you swallow anyway.

When you’re standing outside at four a.m. and heavily intoxicated because you have succumbed to your desire to fit in and an Uber costs $30, so you walk across town to get home while your sister is busy fucking the guy where you had been sleeping not even thirty minutes before. Before you walk home, you kick his car. A lot. and dig out your keys, leaving grooves because you’re angry that no one loves you.

The guy you have loved for the last seven months would rather lead you on and never commit because he wants to be able to fuck anyone he wants. But you love him and have lowered your standards so much that even if he has sex with someone else you would still cover up his mistakes. The line is drawn at emotional attachment now.

You run home, and when you would normally feel pain in your lungs, this time you’re so numb you cannot feel it. You slowly approach the porch, quietly walking now so as to not wake your landlord.

In your bathroom, five a.m. and there is a knife sitting to your right on the floor. Why doesn’t anybody care about you? You pick it up.

Your mom’s response to your university acceptance was “fuck you”. Your dad hasn’t talked to you in months. Your sister, who you depend on, you woke up to her making out with a guy in the same bed as you.

You’re sitting on the bathroom floor of a place you pay for with money you made from sweeping popcorn up in theaters and cleaning shit up in public bathrooms. You put the knife down, you have worked too hard to end here. You have worked too hard to give up because your family doesn’t love you.

University is on the horizon; your future, beginnings, everything you have ever looked forward to. It is coming. You know you’ll be broke, but you’ve been emotionally broken for years – and being financially broke is nothing when you have your freedom.

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Burdens You Face

Creative Writing, Family, feminism, home, Journal, no trust, Personal, Poetry, Relationships

We burden her.
She won’t admit it, but we burden her.

We talk, but she doesn’t like being reminded of her burdens.
We cry, and her burdens are overwhelming.
She can’t stand us.

Forbid her burdens have issues that need attention.
Forbid they demand health treatments that cost money.

Isn’t it feminist to be selfish?
She wants to think so, and selfishness it is.

This burden doesn’t react well when yelled at by the Abusive Coward,
But let’s slap a “sensory overload” tag on it and call it good.

That burden doesn’t like being threatened by the Abusive Coward,
It leaves and it’s a bad, bad burden.

The smallest burden, the loudest, it needs attention and her time,
but that time is called for by the Abusive Coward.

The coward, he is the victim when he strikes a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when he threatens a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when a Burden cries.

She sees humanity in the coward,
She sees love in the coward,
She sees hope, light, and prospect in him.

Her burdens weigh her down,
Suck her dry, they kill her spirit.
Despite being their mother, these burdens are inhuman.

She carried them around, 9 months each.
9 months to learn to despise them,
9 months to learn she would never have freedom.
9 months to realize she carried the children of a man she loathed.

I am her burden, one which has been steadily growing seventeen years.
I am her problem, which she can’t ignore.
I am the outspoken burden which plagues her,

Plaguing her existence with demands.
Fair treatment.
Therapy.
Vegetables.

Extremities which cannot be fulfilled.
Demands which are impossible.
Requests that are beyond capability.
I am your burden, mom.

At The End of The Day

Blame, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, feminism, forgotten, fuck you, Future, home, Hope, Humanist, Journal, no trust, Personal

Who does Bryan think he is? To come downstairs and start raising his voice at me in my house, on the one day I have off from school and other activities.

Sure, our house wasn’t clean, but I was going to clean it. I made a To Do list and cleaning the whole house was on there..

But instead of rationally discussing the fact that there was a dirty pan on the stove and the floor could stand to be swept, he yelled at me. He threw something across the room and saying “go ahead and run away” as I packed up my things so I could do my homework in peace.

On that note, I shouldn’t have to fucking worry about being able to do my homework on a saturday when it’s just me there with my moms boyfriend. I shouldn’t have to think twice about having to come home when it will just be him and I there. He can’t control his temper, he has anger outbursts. He spanks kendra out of anger when Riley and I have expressed our discomfort with it, when we have talked to our mom and told her how we feel.

I shouldn’t have to feel like my mom won’t listen to me because she will automatically take sides with Bryan. She doesn’t hear what I have to say, or she does but she doesn’t care that her boyfriend makes my life uncomfortable. That he makes me uncomfortable in my own home.

I am valid in feeling like my mother’s boyfriend should not raise his voice at me when I am alone with him. I am valid in feeling that my mom does not care about my emotions when she sides with him. Just because my mom does not agree with me, just because my mom does not hear me, just because my mom is choosing to stay with a man who has hurt all of her children, does not make my opinions, feelings, or ideas invalid.

At the end of the day, I am just a sixteen year old who wants her mother to care about her.

At the end of the day, I am just a sixteen year old who could really use a parent with good judgement.

At the end of the day, I just want to feel like someone has my best interest at heart.

Happy Father’s Day: Whores and Addiction

dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, fuck you, Journal, Memories, no trust, Personal, sexual harassment

This Father’s Day I will quietly, but unashamedly, denounce Father’s Day because my father was no father to me.

For years, I would listen to the sound of his voice echo throughout our house as my family would try to sleep. His drunken, loud, angry voice yelling at my mom about things she could not control. The same man who threw my sweet, innocent puppy into our concrete patio,breaking some of her ribs…

ronpup

(This could be her as a puppy, the resemblance is uncanny)

The man who slept with prostitutes when working out of town – and didn’t tell my mom before sleeping with her again. Who drank profusely and stared at his twelve year-old daughters breasts that puberty had spit upon her chest. He wasn’t a graceful man, he wasn’t a nice man, he wasn’t even kind. As the naive and uneducated kid that I was, I loved him. He made my life. I was Daddy’s Girl.

As much as I wish I could still accept him, I know things that tore apart any love or sentiment I had for him. He did things that can’t be reversed with an apology, or with a fatherly kiss on the forehead. Even those kisses he planted on my forehead when he left for work have been tarnished because of reckless actions he didn’t have to take. He let his addiction come before his family, he let his love for whores come before his daughters, he let his lust for breasts taint the way I will see him for the rest of my life.

We lived in fear of what he would do next and we sure made hell seem happy – in our nicely furnished home, with our name brand clothing and smiles plastered to our faces. Mom gently reminding us “Don’t air your dirty laundry“, because she knew exactly what would happen if people found out what happened behind our closed doors.  We did such a good job hiding it, when we finally came out and proclaimed the truth, no one believed us.

So, no. I am not celebrating father’s day. I understand that some people have nice fathers, however foreign that may seem to me right now. Some people love their dads, they might even have good relationships with them.. But to me, father’s day may as well be what Hanukkah is to an Atheist: absolutely meaningless.

Dirty Dishes and Climaxing

Family, Future, Journal, Love, Memories, no trust, Personal, sex, Sexuality, Uncategorized

To say that I am confused or that I don’t understand the things that have happened to me would be an understatement. I believe that under all the stress and mental illnesses that have crept in and hijacked my mind, I am still happy somewhere in there. To find that happiness again will be a major task, and I’m willing to take it on.

If I could have one wish granted, it would be for clarity and understanding of the problems I have at hand.

I have felt overweight and cumbersome this last week. When I imagine myself walking down the stairs, I feel like an overweight walrus and I can feel the fat on my thighs jiggling. I can’t wear anything but loose clothing because my stomach looks enormous and this all started when my mom mentioned that she saw me binge eating.. I hadn’t done that in a long time, but I did that once and ever since I have felt like my entire body is made out of lard.

My sister stormed out of the house today and drove two hours to stay with her boyfriend, and none of us are sure if she’s moving out or if this is temporary. My mom was in tears all night, she cried on my shoulder… Someone else’s wet tears on my bare skin is an uncomfortable feeling.

I’ve been through so much, what I’ve learned is that I do not like being alone. I cry when I’m alone. I hate myself when I am alone. I get angry about the mistakes I’ve made and scream when I’m alone. I yearn for companionship and to be loved when I am alone. If I had an instruction manual, it would say that I require partnership 24/7 and to be intensely cared for without me realizing it – once I am aware that someone loves me, I stop loving them. I detached myself and become emotionless toward them.

When I love someone and find out they love me too, it’s like maintaining masturbation when people are awake. You know you’ll have a hard time climaxing just because your little sister is screaming and your mom is yelling about how no one does the dishes – and any chance you had of continuing with pleasure goes down the drain because dirty dishes and climaxing are not compatible.

That’s what happens when someone loves me. I can’t maintain my feelings. They go away without any chance of revival, unless scenarios change.

Empty Audience

Family, forgotten, fuck you, Memories, no trust, Personal, Uncategorized

I’m angry. Very angry. Mostly at myself for allowing myself to put trust in someone.

It’s been a problem for me through my life, expecting people to be there at important life events. Like school presentations, recitals, HELL, MY GRADUATION. My theatre productions.

Hoping to see familiar faces in the audience, but as I got older, they started coming in smaller and smaller numbers until they just stopped altogether.

Like today, research presentation day. Everyone else had their parents there. All their mom’s and dad’s, siblings and grandparents even.

But not me, no one but my boyfriend is involved enough to even know the date of it, and he was the only one I decided to invite, that way I wouldn’t be disappointed when there weren’t any faces in the audience for me, because there would just be him. The only one I needed there.

But no. Of course not. Of course life had to screw me over and through another curve at me.

Of course, my boyfriend would not show up.

I remember thinking, as I was standing up and my name was being announced, “why did I let myself trust and set expectations?” I knew I shouldn’t have, people only ever disappoint.

And he didn’t show. So I did it alone, like I’ll probably do the rest of my life. It’s not that I enjoy being independent and doing things alone, because I love having people supporting me and getting roses after doing a piece at a piano recital. But after being let down time after time, I decided it wasn’t worth getting my hopes up because it hurt too much to see no one out there.

Isn’t it kind of funny? When I was 6 and only spent two hours a week practicing piano, and at the end of my recital after playing a dumb Little Mozart’s piece, I would get a dozen roses. But after I slaved hours away at a piano a day, and played seven page songs from memory, at those recitals, no one was even there.

And at the presentations I half-assed as a seventh grader, people supported, but today not a single face in the audience.

And last year at my shakespeare production, literally no one came to see my sister and I. I ran out into the audience after the production ended, expecting to see my aunts and uncles, even grandparents who promised to come, and found not a single soul there for me.

People don’t show up when you need them, and that is the most important lesson I’ve learned in years. Don’t rely on anyone, don’t expect anyone, don’t get your hopes up, because no matter what, they WILL let you down.