It’s here
So, October 26 is here. You know, that’s a great day. The reason it’s great is Miss , my sister. Today is her birthday.
Happiest of happy birthdays, Sis o’ my Dreams. May it be the best one yet, and every day afterward even better.
Love you lots.
PS2
Mom gave me a PS2 for my bday. It’s something we can both get use of, since I got her into playing RPGs back on the original NES.
There’s a game that and had when they were my housemates. Suikoden II. I enjoyed the game quite a bit, but never did finish it. I think Mom would like it too.
However, in my search for copies of Suikoden I and II, I’ve discovered that they’re very rare games, and correspondingly high-priced. I finally managed to find a copy of I that I could afford, but II is just ridiculously expensive. The cheapest one I could find was around $90 used, disk and manual only, and the disk is scratched up. The ones that sound like you might be able to actually play them are $150 and up.
Makes me wish Sylvan and Wolfie were right up the street, so I could run over and borrow the game for a while.
Tremble before me!
Of course, there’s no mention of the mighty army of Mindless Zombie Slaves that I’ve been building for the last fifteen years. But, of course, the zombies are just the expendable first wave to soften everyone else for the invincible pet rock clones.
As if all of that doesn’t make my life weird enough, I’ve been forced to learn over the last few weeks that it’s sometimes difficult to be mommy to a cat with a foot fetish.
And how in the hell did I reach 35? I’ve been so uncaring about whether I’m another year older or not that I actually managed to forget for several months how old I was and how old I’d be turning. Do you know how strange it is to be unsure whether you’re currently 34 or 35 without doing the math? I wouldn’t have remembered what age I’d turn today if I hadn’t filled out a profile on one site, and noticed that it promptly informed me that I was 34.
What can I say. I’m weird, and surrounded by weirdness. Down to the cat with a foot fetish.
Fight
I shouldn’t even be writing here. Mom’s asleep, sort of. But thanks to tonight, her sleep is uneasy at best.
I have to put this somewhere. If I don’t, I’ll explode. Or I’ll say it all to the bitch who caused tonight’s rant, and that won’t help anyone else. It won’t help anyone but me.
The fight. It was between my mom and grandmother tonight. Everyone went to bed early because of it but for me. They sleep more when stressed or depressed. I sleep less.
I am so angry. So hurt for my mom.
From somewhere in the middle, after the evil bitch started saying things designed to do nothing other than hurt…
Mom: This week has seemed like everyone in the family hates me, and I can’t take this. It’s too much.
Grandma: silence
Mom: Even you. It’s started to feel like you do. Do you hate me?
Grandma: silence
Mom: voice getting desperate, crying, not wanting to believe that her own mother hates her when everything she does around here is attempting to keep my grandmother as comfortable as possible, even at mom’s own expense Well, do you?
Grandma: long silence, then finally I don’t know what to say.
How about “No! I don’t hate you!” How about, “No, I love you dearly.” How about anything to reduce the amount of pain you inflict on your own daughter, you fucking bitch?
If someone, anyone, asks you, especially in that tone of voice, if you hate them, they are desperate. They’re in pain, and they need reassurance. Not denying it just makes it feel true, whether it is or not. And quite frankly, I feel that you hate everyone sometimes. Everyone other than that walking pustule of a rabid dog that you call grandson.
You did exactly this to me for four years. But all my life, you’ve never particularly liked me. Even as a kid, you made that obvious. I’ve sometimes wondered if it’s because of my Hispanic heritage. I know you’re racist, and you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit about your son’s second wife and their children together because the second wife is black. You couldn’t stand them until one of the children was born with blond hair and blue eyes. I never would have thought you’d destroy your own daughter in favor of my cousin the way you did me.
But you, aren’t you, you bitch. And when my mom, your daughter, tried to protest your treatment of her after that bit about hatred, you went to the emotional blackmail, didn’t you? Just like you did to me, if you weren’t hitting me for it instead.
Anytime you make someone unhappy and they let you know it, you start in about wishing you were dead. That you’d have a heart attack and die right now, or that you’d died long before this. That used to have a lot of power over me. It does with my mother still.
But not me. Not anymore.
If that’s what you want, then HURRY THE FUCK UP AND DIE, you evil bitch. Release my mother from the pain you put her through every goddamned day. Good fucking riddance, I say. At this point, there’s nothing else I want to say to you at all.
You may not give a shit about anyone anymore other than a violent, psychotic, evil bastard who delights in the pain of others. But I do. I care about my mom more than you obviously do. And she’s far more worth saving than that animal you care for and love and shield from the consequences of his own actions.
Die, then. Put yourself out of her life. So she can be free of both you and that piece of shit I hate acknowledging that I’m related to.
Go on.
Get the fuck out.
The destiny meme, and rambling
Otherwise known as the LJ cut text that proves I’ve been watching too many movies lately.
Well, since I am the idiot who went charging into a burning building to warn the people there that the front of the building was catching from a trashcan fire… The one who grabbed a dirk and went prowling through a neighbor’s apartment when she was convinced some stranger had invaded her home… The idiot who went charging toward the door to bravely protect from what turned out to be the first onslaught of the Coatrack from Hell… and so on, ad nauseum… I guess the new part of that would have to be the reluctance, wouldn’t it? :p
Still no sign of when I’ll have internet connectivity of some sort on my own computer, so I still have to sneak in once in a blue moon if I want to post. It will probably continue so for a while. And I have to be careful at this time of the morning that my typing doesn’t wake the mother unit, which slows me immensely. But it’s the only chance I get to post anything right now.
It sucks. So much has happened, so much I’ve found out, and I’ve had such a need to get it all out of my system, which is the point of this journal. But I can’t spend much time at the computer, and there is no way to have a private conversation with anyone on the phone. I’m no good at dealing with my feelings silently. If I keep quiet, I don’t deal with them. I bottle them up instead, and slowly go insane. I know, I used to do that as a matter of course, and became so crazy that I was known to lash out at people physically for just saying hello. That was a long time ago, in middle school in Oklahoma, but I haven’t forgotten what it was like, or how I got there. I need, and have always needed, to work my feelings out “out loud.” Which means that there has to be some at least theoretical listener. This journal has been a huge help, even if my need to work my feelings out out loud has caused drama. But right now, I don’t have that, not really. Even now, since there is the possibility of Mom waking up and coming over to see what it is I’m doing, I’m not okay with even starting to talk about everything that’s gone on, the things I’ve learned, etc. This is not the kind of thing you share with family, or else will only make it worse here if it’s known. Or, for that matter, known that I’m putting it out in this rather public form.
So I’ll just keep working on my water color painting, and hope that the degree of serenity I can achieve while doing that will hold me until I have some more private-from-the-family means of dealing with all of this.
I did a lot of work to heal the emotional and mental damage I used to carry with me always. I have got to keep strong and prevent myself from backsliding into who I used to be.
And I have to find a way to cushion Mom from the things that are going on that are slowly destroying her here. I didn’t know how bad it was until the last few weeks. But the combination of my grandmother and my psycho cousin have made her into what I was when I left here last time. And I’m furious that they are doing this to her, and so hurt for her because I know exactly how it feels to have their insanity convince her that her very existence is somehow harmful to the people around her and that it would almost certainly improve everyone’s lives if she were dead. That’s where I was by the time I got out of here after high school.
But that’s as much as I can stay. She’s stirring. I have to go.
