John Mayer ftw!!!
This is basically one huge fucking rant about nothing. I'm sorry you have to see this. I'll try to seperate different ideas and topics with semi-lines. I don't care about run on sentences either. I'm sorry.
Don't read this if you don't want to hear me talk about myself, becuase I really hate talking about myself, and I don't want this to be one of those things where you read the article about the new "crazy" thing that Britney Spears did just so you can say, "Wow, she's so fucked up." If that didn't make sense then I was basically saying I don't want you to read this just to see how much I'm trying to make my life sound like it sucks (which I don't think it does) or how "mature" I am. I hate how egotistical I am.
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This started out as a comment to Tor Bor's ell-jay, but I liked it a lot, so I decided to post it here and continue it. This part is sooo soo sooo long and if you don't want to read the entire story of my mother getting checked into rehab and stuff then skip to the last paragraph of this section. I put a star in bold so it's easy to find.
"I am an addict. I don't have a problem."
If you were in AA, you'd still be on step one. Let me show you.
"We admit we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives have become unmanageable."
straight up, copied from the first printing of the AA big book my mom found on Ebay.
I remember back when Finding Nemo first came out in sixth grade I was in homeroom and I was trying to convince Alex, Bryan, Kelly and Hannah Reich that the part with the sharks in the meeting was supposed to be poking fun at AA meetings, and they just straight up would not believe me.
Actually, now that I re-read that, maybe you don't have a problem, you admitted you have a problem, and usually the problem that keeps you addicted denial. You deny that you're addicted so you keep doing it, trying to prove that you can "control" yourself, but you end up going crazy and dying from a heroin overdose.
One day my mother told me that she had three addictions, the drug addictions (which I would later find out had many sub categories), the denial addiction, and the "tomorrow" addiction.
The denial addiction, wasn't that hard for her. She knew she had a problem, but her problem was she didn't care, which still counts as denial to me. You're in denial that it's effecting you and effecting the people around you. If you understand that but you don't care about yourself or the people around you, it's time for you to go to rehab. Detox yourself up, and then lock yourself in that room, starting on level zero and work your way up.
The "tomorrow" addiction was hard for her. You know when your friend says, "C'mon! Lets go to a bar!" and you said, "Well, I said I'd stop drinking..." and your friend says, "There's always tomorrow," and you, without hesitation, agree with them. My mom always said this, and when my step dad took all of the alcohol in the house away my mother had a fit. To me, it wasn't one of those things where I was all, "No, my mother can't be an alcoholic! Only hobo's and prostitutes are alcoholics!" it was more like I didn't really even think about it. Like, it didn't even cross my mind becuase I heard so little about my mother and father's past drug problems that neither of them had really come to terms with until my mother finally got locked up.
Which is where this story is going. My mother was finally going to rehab, after a month of self-hatred, bitterness, withdrawl syndrome, and utter bitchyness. The Saturday before she left I was at a friends house, I think it was Leah, I'm not really sure, but someone called me, either my father or my mother's best friend and told me that my mother passed out in some men's clothing store while with my sister and my mom's best friend's son and daughter (named William and Melissa). So whoever called me told me that my mom was being put in the hospital for the last weekend before she went to rehab in New Hampshire (or Maine, or Vermont). So that night my sister and I went to my dads house. I was in my room when my dad knocked on the door, I let him in and he said, "Are you okay?" I nodded, "Of course I'm okay dad?" I said as he walked in and sat down on the floor infront of me. I was sitting on my bed. "Are you sure?" He asked. He seemed to not be sure if I knew something, but didn't want to have to be the bearer of bad news. "Yeah dad, I'm sure."
He really really didn't believe me, and my step mom came in, "Allie, you're mom's in the hospital and she's going to rehab. How can you be okay?" Two things hadn't happened to me yet. It A) hadn't really realized the severity of what was happening and B) I could comprehend that this was somewhat severe, but it hadn't really hit me yet.
For my entire life whenever I was put on the spot by my father, or he was yelling at me, or I was yelling at him, or he was mad at me, or I was mad at him I've started crying. I think that's becuase he's the only person in this world I don't want to dissapoint. So right after he said this I started to tear up. Something that is really hard for me to understand is that I didn't care! Like for some reason my mother was gone for a week, and at this point I had never spent a week away from her before, but it felt like since she had to leave it was okay. "Look," Tammy said, "You're starting to tear up."
Whenever I was fighting with my dad or my dad and I were have a "serious talk" about whatever and my step-mom shows up I get pissed off and stop talking to and glare at Tammy (My step-dad doens't feel he needs to be a part of my mother punishing me, probably becuase she doesn't want him to be). So the fact that Tammy tried to A) use my defense mechanism against my father against me, and B) come into a private conversation I was having with my father made me sooo angry. So I stopped myself from crying, said, "No, I'm not." really rudely, and then didn't say anything in response to what they were saying. My step-brother called my step-mom and she left, and my dad closed the door behind her so she wouldn't come in.
My dad said, "Allie, your mother has had these problems for a long time. Both of us do. Today I talked to her on the phone for a long time about this. I know she has Sean now, but I've known her a lot longer than Sean has. She was telling me about what was happening to her and her and I both compared all of those traits to ourselves and our friends. Your mother has a problem Allie and she's getting help. I don't know why you're not upset, you might not understand, and I don't think you do." I nodded, I didn't and he knew that, "How would you know what this is like Dad?" I asked. He might have seen half his friends become zombies, but he never lost a parent to a problem, "I do Allie, I do. You know Vick, right? My step-dad who died when I was young?" I had heard of Vick. I knew he was a dick, and he was mean to my dad and his brother and sisters, and I knew that he died. No on really talked about him, so that was all I knew, "He was molesting my sisters Allie. He had a problem. Laurie went to her guidance counselor and told her what was happening. The guidance counselor called the house and asked Grammy and Vick to come in for a meeting. Vick said to himself, 'I don't want to go to jail,' so he went and got a gun and shot himself. Vick had a problem Allie. I might not have liked Vick, but at the time, since I wasn't allowed to see my own father, he was my father. I was happy he was gone, if anyone was happy it was me," this confused me a little, but my mother told me that Vick abused my father and he was the only one out of his siblings that came out with visible scars, "but my family struggled. It was hard for us to get over it, but we did." He put his hand on my knee. At this point I was crying becuase that was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. My aunts, two of my favorite people in the world, had been molested by someone that was supposed to be a "father" to them?
How fucked up is this world?
I still slept in the same room as my sister (but had my own room for living in) and my dad was lying down in my bed with me, and my sister was on the top bunk. "Maybe she was just nervous for rehab and tired," I said. My dad seemed fed up, no one had really told me what happened. I just knew that my mom passed out and was now in the hospital.
My dad said, "I doubt it Allie." My dad seemed fed up that people were keeping this from me. I was only in fifth grade, which meant my sister was in kindergarten, but my dad didn't care, he knew that his parents kept everything from him his entire life. His brother didn't find out about what happened with Vick until my dad's younger sister (Debbie) finally broke down during dinner when she was thirty eight and admitted it to my father, Laurie, my dad's younger brother (Jeff), and my mother. Jeff was thirty three when Debbie admitted it, and this had all happened while he was six. His mother is still in denial about it, the only reason they know is because they saw him kill himself, and Laurie told my dad. My dad said very subtlely, "I think it was something else." I think he wanted to act like he wasn't sure to make it seem like he wasn't being dishonest with us in the first place by promising to keep it a secret. It was more of his own wellbeing than for mine and my sister's, he didn't want to be like his mother. He did not want to be like his mother.
I sat up a little and said, "What was it?" This was in the time of dare when they teach you about cigarettes and shit. I knew that you weren't supposed to take perscription drugs that didn't belong to you. "I think she took some of grandpa's medicine Allie," Was what my dad said. I started crying, and then my sister started crying becuase she realized that I was crying, which meant it was bad.
Then I knew it was more than alcohol, but I was in denial. No, my mother was going away from her alcohol problem not her "I take my father's medicine" problem. She's an alcoholic not an "I take presriction drugs that don't belong to me"aholic. Since I was in denial I didn't get overly emotional. "This is just a one time thing," I thought. More denying. Way to go Allie!
That was the day drugs became part of my life, and the day I look back on to remember that denial gets me nothing. My mom was going to rehab, good thing they do both alcohol addiction treatment and drug addiction treatment there, becuase if she had to go to two seperate treatment facilities I would have been pissed. I know my mom's an alcoholic, I know my mom used to smoke pot in the bathroom to cure her hangovers, I know that all those times I saw my mom throw up in the morning were becuase she was hung over (and I always thought she was sick).
*Now that you know the entire story I can explain to you why the "tomorrow" addiction was hardest for her. It was hard for her to actually have tomorrow come. Tomorrow was so much easier than today. Today came the day she took those pills and she passed out, and then threw her in North 5 at Emerson (A place I would come to know and love. [/sarcasm]). When she didn't have a chance to "have too much laundry to do, so she couldn't go to rehab today." This was court mandate once she got thrown in North 5. That was the day she started living in the moment. She was living by the AA rule "One day at a time" by force, and soon it became her way of life.
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This is from earlier today when I was really pissed.
So basically I fucking hate my mother, my step-father, and my sister.
My step-father: He's just a dick. He feels that I need a reality check every single day of my life becuase I'm spoiled. No, just because your doctor was so advanced he had to reset your nose with a dictionary and you had to start paying rent when you were fifteen does not make me spoiled. It makes you underprivelaged.
My sister: She's in fifth grade. Fifth fucking grade and she can't be home by herself. She's ten (or eleven, I'm more embarassed if it's eleven) years old and she can't sit in a house by herself. A house she's lived in since she was three? Is she fucking ridiculous? She needs to get over her god damn dependency issues and then grow the fuck up.
My mom: She feeds into my sister's like fits and fuckmonsters by telling me I can do the shit I want too because my sister needs to have someone home for her when she gets home. SHE'LL BE HOME FOR FORTY FUCKING MINUTES LEAVE A GOD DAMN NOTE. She learned to read already, right? Well, I don't know, she acts like she's three, she probably reads and a three year olds level. She always pulls the, "I do everything for you and you do nothing for me" card even though her and I both know that we do a lot for eachother. I hate her most of the time.
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On a lighter note, I was in the shower, and somehow I started thinking about metal fest (probably becuase I was singing Cheap Trick [Yeah, I don't really know either]) and then I was thinking about how Tom was taking us and how he could bring two friends. Then I thought back to the conversation Rachel and I had about it. And I said, "Who's he bringing, Ben Yelin?" then I like pumped my fists in the air and said, "Yes!" and Rachel laughed a little. and then (while in the shower) I remembered two things. Only Rachel and Tamara would get the first one.
DIING!!!!!!!
and then, something y'all will hate me for...
GAMEEEEEEE
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In response to the section about my family and how much I hate them Rachel wrote:
arr_jay_fo_shiz
2007-04-10 04:20 pm (local) (from 24.62.225.154) (link) DeleteFreezeScreenTrack This Select
I just remembered the picture your sister drew of you.
....Doesn't she play World of Warcraft or something?
Rachel, I kind of feel like I want to scan in the copy of it that you drew on your letter to me from camp. That shit was priceless. I just went to look for it, becuase I actually knew exactly where it was. So I got down to the book shelf that I saw it like stuck in, and it was fucking gone, and the bookshelf was cleaned. I was pissed, like right when I need that piece of paper that has been wedged inside a bookcase for ages it's gone. Wtf?
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Speaking of Rachel, her and I were talking during gym today while a bunch of kids in my gym class were bouncing around with drunk goggles on attempting (key word) to play knock out.
We were talking about how much we miss Nick. Like last year I had five classes with him. Spanish, gym, applied tech, health, and social studies, then I had to deal with him at lunch and it was far far far too much Nicholas Digiovanni for me. Bruises were common back then, maybe (meaning fucking always) a few cries of "NICHOLAS" could be heard every minute or two (did you catch that? A few cries every minute or two. THREE OR MORE CRIES EVERY MINUTE OR TWO). I did get annoyed with him far too often, but it didn't usually last long. If you said, "Nicholas, stop," he'd stop, but find another way to annoy you. He is a middle child after all. Always out for attention (COUGHRACHELCOUGH [Just kidding Arrj. you're actually really chill compared to your siblings. One's named Tom, and that's all we really need to know, and the other hit me in the knee. You're safe]).
This year I only have ONE class with him a week and it's far far far too little Nicholas Digiovanni for me. I mean, maybe if I had two studies with him a week it would be okay, or (I'm getting optimisitic here) a class that isn't D, E, or F block I would be good, happy even. But like whenever I got to H block study on Friday's I'm like, "Wow, fucking shit Nick. I'm missing out. You're still you, whom I love, and you're good looking all of a sudden? What is happening to this world?"
Rachel said that it seemed like he was starting to act normal, but everytime Arrj and I showed up he'd go back to being himself. It makes me kind of sad that Nick is changing from his cute little Nick self, but it makes me glad that he's still in there, waiting for the people who he can be himself around.
I swear to god I'm soo fucking pumped for the show coming up at his house. Talk about fucking nostalgia.
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Totally depressing, considering I'm talking about depression. I don't know, this is me pretty much figuring out why I did the shit I did back in seventh grade. It started out as a conversation with Arrj, so it's kind of choppy and fucked up. I'm not sad about this at all, I'm happy I'm figuring this shit out.
I think had a uni back in seventh grade. I feel I was borderline between uni-polar and clinically depressed. I mean there was the whole self-mutilation and suicide thing. I don't really think I did that becuase I wanted to die, I did cut becuase of how it worked for me, but I didn't try to kill myself becuase I actually didn't want to be here anymore. But I never like told my parents about it, I just kind of did it and hoped they would notice, but whenever I realized that they would have to walk into a room with me lying on the floor with a bottle of my grandfather's sleeping pills, or with my wrists torn open I'd chicken out, becuase I didn't want that to happen. Looking deeper, it was kind of me wanting to die, but not really wanting to die, but still hoping I died (?) if that makes sense. I would want to die really really bad, but then when I'd try I'd freak out and not want to hurt everyone around me like that, becuase they were most important to me, but as I was trying to stop the bleeding or waiting for the little effect the pills took on me before I could throw up to wear off I'd hope that the bleeding wouldn't stop, and I'd hope that it took me a little too long to throw up. If that did happen I wouldn't have to take the blame, and I tried to stop myself, but I just couldn't do it.
I feel like most of my suicidal feelings were based off of curiosity. I felt like most of my friends too me for granted. I was there to listen and help them with their problems, but when I needed advice, who did I go to? No one. So I wanted to see what would happen to all of these people I helped if I was gone. Half for vindictive reasons, half for selfish reasons. I wanted these kids to learn their lesson. I wanted them to sit at my funeral and think, "Fuck, I should have said more than, 'yeah, that's sad,' the time she told me all her problems," or, "Shit what am I going to do now without the one person who I ever trusted enough to tell my problems too. The only person who ever cared enough about me to listen, actually listen not just pretend to list?" This may sound selfish, but I felt like that person for a lot of people. These people didn't have anyone in their life that could help them, becuase their friends thought the same things they did, and the same way did.
I also wanted to see who would react. This sounds completely stupid, but it's why it was happening. I wanted to see who valued me, and who didn't. For some reason I feel like if I died there would be people I barely knew crying for me because they wish they had gotten to know me, or because they really valued the bit of me they did know. I also want to see how my "best friends" would react. Which ones would be so mortified that they couldn't move and which ones would move on quickly. Which ones would feel guilty for what they said about me, and which ones would feel guilty for not telling me not to do it.
As The Eat Me Beat Me Lady says in Pump Up the Volume, "It's not your fault. None of us thought was actually going to do it!"
I feel that those last two paragraphs were pertaining to me today. Today if I were to kill myself I would do it for those reasons. This proves two things A) I would never kill myself and B) death is almost exciting for me. Scary, but exciting. When I was in seventh grade I really just did not want to be around all the people I was around. My "friends", my friends, my family, the people who talked shit about me, the people who judged me, everyone. In my world no one cared about me, everyone used me, no one could ever love me, and I was an absloutely fucking horrible person, so what's the point of sticking around and forcing myself and others through this? There was no point.
I came out of it though. Thank god I came out of it.
So that was kind of silly of me. I wrote that whole thing assuming that you get to see everything that happens after your death. I still wonder these things a lot but I would never actually kill myself over them anymore.
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So, what did we learn from this entry?
A) I cannot keep my mind on track for more than eight seconds.
B) My dad's younger brother is named Jeff.
C) I talk about myself on my friend's livejournals and I hate myself for it.
D) My sister has the mental stability of a three year old.
E) DIING!!!!
F) Game.
G) My mom fucking cleaned and threw out my letter from Rachel.
H) I miss Nicholas Digiovanni sooo much.
I) May 4th is gonna own face.
J) I think a lot about confusing things and do it in a really unorganized manor.
K) I think you can see the world after you die.
L) I'm really fucked up and selfish. (I mean, c'mon this entire entry's about myself
After re-reading this I considered not posting it but I worked really hard on it, meaning I forgot about it for an hour or two at a time, then came back to it, and probably started a new train of thought. I don't know, it's worse than I thought it was going to be. I'll probably make this private later. Oh, btw, the title's for Torie, becuase in reality this entire entry started out as me writing a comment to Torie, and it turned into this mess.
Don't read this if you don't want to hear me talk about myself, becuase I really hate talking about myself, and I don't want this to be one of those things where you read the article about the new "crazy" thing that Britney Spears did just so you can say, "Wow, she's so fucked up." If that didn't make sense then I was basically saying I don't want you to read this just to see how much I'm trying to make my life sound like it sucks (which I don't think it does) or how "mature" I am. I hate how egotistical I am.
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This started out as a comment to Tor Bor's ell-jay, but I liked it a lot, so I decided to post it here and continue it. This part is sooo soo sooo long and if you don't want to read the entire story of my mother getting checked into rehab and stuff then skip to the last paragraph of this section. I put a star in bold so it's easy to find.
"I am an addict. I don't have a problem."
If you were in AA, you'd still be on step one. Let me show you.
"We admit we were powerless over alcohol-that our lives have become unmanageable."
straight up, copied from the first printing of the AA big book my mom found on Ebay.
I remember back when Finding Nemo first came out in sixth grade I was in homeroom and I was trying to convince Alex, Bryan, Kelly and Hannah Reich that the part with the sharks in the meeting was supposed to be poking fun at AA meetings, and they just straight up would not believe me.
Actually, now that I re-read that, maybe you don't have a problem, you admitted you have a problem, and usually the problem that keeps you addicted denial. You deny that you're addicted so you keep doing it, trying to prove that you can "control" yourself, but you end up going crazy and dying from a heroin overdose.
One day my mother told me that she had three addictions, the drug addictions (which I would later find out had many sub categories), the denial addiction, and the "tomorrow" addiction.
The denial addiction, wasn't that hard for her. She knew she had a problem, but her problem was she didn't care, which still counts as denial to me. You're in denial that it's effecting you and effecting the people around you. If you understand that but you don't care about yourself or the people around you, it's time for you to go to rehab. Detox yourself up, and then lock yourself in that room, starting on level zero and work your way up.
The "tomorrow" addiction was hard for her. You know when your friend says, "C'mon! Lets go to a bar!" and you said, "Well, I said I'd stop drinking..." and your friend says, "There's always tomorrow," and you, without hesitation, agree with them. My mom always said this, and when my step dad took all of the alcohol in the house away my mother had a fit. To me, it wasn't one of those things where I was all, "No, my mother can't be an alcoholic! Only hobo's and prostitutes are alcoholics!" it was more like I didn't really even think about it. Like, it didn't even cross my mind becuase I heard so little about my mother and father's past drug problems that neither of them had really come to terms with until my mother finally got locked up.
Which is where this story is going. My mother was finally going to rehab, after a month of self-hatred, bitterness, withdrawl syndrome, and utter bitchyness. The Saturday before she left I was at a friends house, I think it was Leah, I'm not really sure, but someone called me, either my father or my mother's best friend and told me that my mother passed out in some men's clothing store while with my sister and my mom's best friend's son and daughter (named William and Melissa). So whoever called me told me that my mom was being put in the hospital for the last weekend before she went to rehab in New Hampshire (or Maine, or Vermont). So that night my sister and I went to my dads house. I was in my room when my dad knocked on the door, I let him in and he said, "Are you okay?" I nodded, "Of course I'm okay dad?" I said as he walked in and sat down on the floor infront of me. I was sitting on my bed. "Are you sure?" He asked. He seemed to not be sure if I knew something, but didn't want to have to be the bearer of bad news. "Yeah dad, I'm sure."
He really really didn't believe me, and my step mom came in, "Allie, you're mom's in the hospital and she's going to rehab. How can you be okay?" Two things hadn't happened to me yet. It A) hadn't really realized the severity of what was happening and B) I could comprehend that this was somewhat severe, but it hadn't really hit me yet.
For my entire life whenever I was put on the spot by my father, or he was yelling at me, or I was yelling at him, or he was mad at me, or I was mad at him I've started crying. I think that's becuase he's the only person in this world I don't want to dissapoint. So right after he said this I started to tear up. Something that is really hard for me to understand is that I didn't care! Like for some reason my mother was gone for a week, and at this point I had never spent a week away from her before, but it felt like since she had to leave it was okay. "Look," Tammy said, "You're starting to tear up."
Whenever I was fighting with my dad or my dad and I were have a "serious talk" about whatever and my step-mom shows up I get pissed off and stop talking to and glare at Tammy (My step-dad doens't feel he needs to be a part of my mother punishing me, probably becuase she doesn't want him to be). So the fact that Tammy tried to A) use my defense mechanism against my father against me, and B) come into a private conversation I was having with my father made me sooo angry. So I stopped myself from crying, said, "No, I'm not." really rudely, and then didn't say anything in response to what they were saying. My step-brother called my step-mom and she left, and my dad closed the door behind her so she wouldn't come in.
My dad said, "Allie, your mother has had these problems for a long time. Both of us do. Today I talked to her on the phone for a long time about this. I know she has Sean now, but I've known her a lot longer than Sean has. She was telling me about what was happening to her and her and I both compared all of those traits to ourselves and our friends. Your mother has a problem Allie and she's getting help. I don't know why you're not upset, you might not understand, and I don't think you do." I nodded, I didn't and he knew that, "How would you know what this is like Dad?" I asked. He might have seen half his friends become zombies, but he never lost a parent to a problem, "I do Allie, I do. You know Vick, right? My step-dad who died when I was young?" I had heard of Vick. I knew he was a dick, and he was mean to my dad and his brother and sisters, and I knew that he died. No on really talked about him, so that was all I knew, "He was molesting my sisters Allie. He had a problem. Laurie went to her guidance counselor and told her what was happening. The guidance counselor called the house and asked Grammy and Vick to come in for a meeting. Vick said to himself, 'I don't want to go to jail,' so he went and got a gun and shot himself. Vick had a problem Allie. I might not have liked Vick, but at the time, since I wasn't allowed to see my own father, he was my father. I was happy he was gone, if anyone was happy it was me," this confused me a little, but my mother told me that Vick abused my father and he was the only one out of his siblings that came out with visible scars, "but my family struggled. It was hard for us to get over it, but we did." He put his hand on my knee. At this point I was crying becuase that was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. My aunts, two of my favorite people in the world, had been molested by someone that was supposed to be a "father" to them?
How fucked up is this world?
I still slept in the same room as my sister (but had my own room for living in) and my dad was lying down in my bed with me, and my sister was on the top bunk. "Maybe she was just nervous for rehab and tired," I said. My dad seemed fed up, no one had really told me what happened. I just knew that my mom passed out and was now in the hospital.
My dad said, "I doubt it Allie." My dad seemed fed up that people were keeping this from me. I was only in fifth grade, which meant my sister was in kindergarten, but my dad didn't care, he knew that his parents kept everything from him his entire life. His brother didn't find out about what happened with Vick until my dad's younger sister (Debbie) finally broke down during dinner when she was thirty eight and admitted it to my father, Laurie, my dad's younger brother (Jeff), and my mother. Jeff was thirty three when Debbie admitted it, and this had all happened while he was six. His mother is still in denial about it, the only reason they know is because they saw him kill himself, and Laurie told my dad. My dad said very subtlely, "I think it was something else." I think he wanted to act like he wasn't sure to make it seem like he wasn't being dishonest with us in the first place by promising to keep it a secret. It was more of his own wellbeing than for mine and my sister's, he didn't want to be like his mother. He did not want to be like his mother.
I sat up a little and said, "What was it?" This was in the time of dare when they teach you about cigarettes and shit. I knew that you weren't supposed to take perscription drugs that didn't belong to you. "I think she took some of grandpa's medicine Allie," Was what my dad said. I started crying, and then my sister started crying becuase she realized that I was crying, which meant it was bad.
Then I knew it was more than alcohol, but I was in denial. No, my mother was going away from her alcohol problem not her "I take my father's medicine" problem. She's an alcoholic not an "I take presriction drugs that don't belong to me"aholic. Since I was in denial I didn't get overly emotional. "This is just a one time thing," I thought. More denying. Way to go Allie!
That was the day drugs became part of my life, and the day I look back on to remember that denial gets me nothing. My mom was going to rehab, good thing they do both alcohol addiction treatment and drug addiction treatment there, becuase if she had to go to two seperate treatment facilities I would have been pissed. I know my mom's an alcoholic, I know my mom used to smoke pot in the bathroom to cure her hangovers, I know that all those times I saw my mom throw up in the morning were becuase she was hung over (and I always thought she was sick).
*Now that you know the entire story I can explain to you why the "tomorrow" addiction was hardest for her. It was hard for her to actually have tomorrow come. Tomorrow was so much easier than today. Today came the day she took those pills and she passed out, and then threw her in North 5 at Emerson (A place I would come to know and love. [/sarcasm]). When she didn't have a chance to "have too much laundry to do, so she couldn't go to rehab today." This was court mandate once she got thrown in North 5. That was the day she started living in the moment. She was living by the AA rule "One day at a time" by force, and soon it became her way of life.
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This is from earlier today when I was really pissed.
So basically I fucking hate my mother, my step-father, and my sister.
My step-father: He's just a dick. He feels that I need a reality check every single day of my life becuase I'm spoiled. No, just because your doctor was so advanced he had to reset your nose with a dictionary and you had to start paying rent when you were fifteen does not make me spoiled. It makes you underprivelaged.
My sister: She's in fifth grade. Fifth fucking grade and she can't be home by herself. She's ten (or eleven, I'm more embarassed if it's eleven) years old and she can't sit in a house by herself. A house she's lived in since she was three? Is she fucking ridiculous? She needs to get over her god damn dependency issues and then grow the fuck up.
My mom: She feeds into my sister's like fits and fuckmonsters by telling me I can do the shit I want too because my sister needs to have someone home for her when she gets home. SHE'LL BE HOME FOR FORTY FUCKING MINUTES LEAVE A GOD DAMN NOTE. She learned to read already, right? Well, I don't know, she acts like she's three, she probably reads and a three year olds level. She always pulls the, "I do everything for you and you do nothing for me" card even though her and I both know that we do a lot for eachother. I hate her most of the time.
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On a lighter note, I was in the shower, and somehow I started thinking about metal fest (probably becuase I was singing Cheap Trick [Yeah, I don't really know either]) and then I was thinking about how Tom was taking us and how he could bring two friends. Then I thought back to the conversation Rachel and I had about it. And I said, "Who's he bringing, Ben Yelin?" then I like pumped my fists in the air and said, "Yes!" and Rachel laughed a little. and then (while in the shower) I remembered two things. Only Rachel and Tamara would get the first one.
DIING!!!!!!!
and then, something y'all will hate me for...
GAMEEEEEEE
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In response to the section about my family and how much I hate them Rachel wrote:
arr_jay_fo_shiz
2007-04-10 04:20 pm (local) (from 24.62.225.154) (link) DeleteFreezeScreenTrack This Select
I just remembered the picture your sister drew of you.
....Doesn't she play World of Warcraft or something?
Rachel, I kind of feel like I want to scan in the copy of it that you drew on your letter to me from camp. That shit was priceless. I just went to look for it, becuase I actually knew exactly where it was. So I got down to the book shelf that I saw it like stuck in, and it was fucking gone, and the bookshelf was cleaned. I was pissed, like right when I need that piece of paper that has been wedged inside a bookcase for ages it's gone. Wtf?
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Speaking of Rachel, her and I were talking during gym today while a bunch of kids in my gym class were bouncing around with drunk goggles on attempting (key word) to play knock out.
We were talking about how much we miss Nick. Like last year I had five classes with him. Spanish, gym, applied tech, health, and social studies, then I had to deal with him at lunch and it was far far far too much Nicholas Digiovanni for me. Bruises were common back then, maybe (meaning fucking always) a few cries of "NICHOLAS" could be heard every minute or two (did you catch that? A few cries every minute or two. THREE OR MORE CRIES EVERY MINUTE OR TWO). I did get annoyed with him far too often, but it didn't usually last long. If you said, "Nicholas, stop," he'd stop, but find another way to annoy you. He is a middle child after all. Always out for attention (COUGHRACHELCOUGH [Just kidding Arrj. you're actually really chill compared to your siblings. One's named Tom, and that's all we really need to know, and the other hit me in the knee. You're safe]).
This year I only have ONE class with him a week and it's far far far too little Nicholas Digiovanni for me. I mean, maybe if I had two studies with him a week it would be okay, or (I'm getting optimisitic here) a class that isn't D, E, or F block I would be good, happy even. But like whenever I got to H block study on Friday's I'm like, "Wow, fucking shit Nick. I'm missing out. You're still you, whom I love, and you're good looking all of a sudden? What is happening to this world?"
Rachel said that it seemed like he was starting to act normal, but everytime Arrj and I showed up he'd go back to being himself. It makes me kind of sad that Nick is changing from his cute little Nick self, but it makes me glad that he's still in there, waiting for the people who he can be himself around.
I swear to god I'm soo fucking pumped for the show coming up at his house. Talk about fucking nostalgia.
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Totally depressing, considering I'm talking about depression. I don't know, this is me pretty much figuring out why I did the shit I did back in seventh grade. It started out as a conversation with Arrj, so it's kind of choppy and fucked up. I'm not sad about this at all, I'm happy I'm figuring this shit out.
I think had a uni back in seventh grade. I feel I was borderline between uni-polar and clinically depressed. I mean there was the whole self-mutilation and suicide thing. I don't really think I did that becuase I wanted to die, I did cut becuase of how it worked for me, but I didn't try to kill myself becuase I actually didn't want to be here anymore. But I never like told my parents about it, I just kind of did it and hoped they would notice, but whenever I realized that they would have to walk into a room with me lying on the floor with a bottle of my grandfather's sleeping pills, or with my wrists torn open I'd chicken out, becuase I didn't want that to happen. Looking deeper, it was kind of me wanting to die, but not really wanting to die, but still hoping I died (?) if that makes sense. I would want to die really really bad, but then when I'd try I'd freak out and not want to hurt everyone around me like that, becuase they were most important to me, but as I was trying to stop the bleeding or waiting for the little effect the pills took on me before I could throw up to wear off I'd hope that the bleeding wouldn't stop, and I'd hope that it took me a little too long to throw up. If that did happen I wouldn't have to take the blame, and I tried to stop myself, but I just couldn't do it.
I feel like most of my suicidal feelings were based off of curiosity. I felt like most of my friends too me for granted. I was there to listen and help them with their problems, but when I needed advice, who did I go to? No one. So I wanted to see what would happen to all of these people I helped if I was gone. Half for vindictive reasons, half for selfish reasons. I wanted these kids to learn their lesson. I wanted them to sit at my funeral and think, "Fuck, I should have said more than, 'yeah, that's sad,' the time she told me all her problems," or, "Shit what am I going to do now without the one person who I ever trusted enough to tell my problems too. The only person who ever cared enough about me to listen, actually listen not just pretend to list?" This may sound selfish, but I felt like that person for a lot of people. These people didn't have anyone in their life that could help them, becuase their friends thought the same things they did, and the same way did.
I also wanted to see who would react. This sounds completely stupid, but it's why it was happening. I wanted to see who valued me, and who didn't. For some reason I feel like if I died there would be people I barely knew crying for me because they wish they had gotten to know me, or because they really valued the bit of me they did know. I also want to see how my "best friends" would react. Which ones would be so mortified that they couldn't move and which ones would move on quickly. Which ones would feel guilty for what they said about me, and which ones would feel guilty for not telling me not to do it.
As The Eat Me Beat Me Lady says in Pump Up the Volume, "It's not your fault. None of us thought was actually going to do it!"
I feel that those last two paragraphs were pertaining to me today. Today if I were to kill myself I would do it for those reasons. This proves two things A) I would never kill myself and B) death is almost exciting for me. Scary, but exciting. When I was in seventh grade I really just did not want to be around all the people I was around. My "friends", my friends, my family, the people who talked shit about me, the people who judged me, everyone. In my world no one cared about me, everyone used me, no one could ever love me, and I was an absloutely fucking horrible person, so what's the point of sticking around and forcing myself and others through this? There was no point.
I came out of it though. Thank god I came out of it.
So that was kind of silly of me. I wrote that whole thing assuming that you get to see everything that happens after your death. I still wonder these things a lot but I would never actually kill myself over them anymore.
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So, what did we learn from this entry?
A) I cannot keep my mind on track for more than eight seconds.
B) My dad's younger brother is named Jeff.
C) I talk about myself on my friend's livejournals and I hate myself for it.
D) My sister has the mental stability of a three year old.
E) DIING!!!!
F) Game.
G) My mom fucking cleaned and threw out my letter from Rachel.
H) I miss Nicholas Digiovanni sooo much.
I) May 4th is gonna own face.
J) I think a lot about confusing things and do it in a really unorganized manor.
K) I think you can see the world after you die.
L) I'm really fucked up and selfish. (I mean, c'mon this entire entry's about myself
After re-reading this I considered not posting it but I worked really hard on it, meaning I forgot about it for an hour or two at a time, then came back to it, and probably started a new train of thought. I don't know, it's worse than I thought it was going to be. I'll probably make this private later. Oh, btw, the title's for Torie, becuase in reality this entire entry started out as me writing a comment to Torie, and it turned into this mess.