Can you Smell the Rage from there??

Is there even a way to fix things that have been broken for too long? For example: A chair breaks, if you fix it immediately, it may be okay, if it wasn't all that broken to begin with. But if you were to put it aside in the garage or something and wait five years, the chair would be so much more work to fix. Because now it's not just that a leg has been snapped, now the actual wood is corroding and you have to get a whole new peice. With a lot of repairs, it could be almost like new again, but never quite right. Aren't people like that too? If you don't fix the problems when they first start, it's that much more difficult to fix them at all. My family is a corroded chair thrown in the garage. Is it even worth fixing? Personally, I take chairs like that to the dump. Is there a dump for people????? I guess that would be like a jail or a state mental institution. And everyone in my family would probably fit the bill for either one of those places, sadly enough. My Mom and I would go to the loony bin, both my brothers would go to jail, and my sister would only be suited to a prison hospital, since she is a criminal and a psychotic.

I really wish I could put hidden cameras all throughout the house so professionals could see what I have to deal with. People think that if there is not overt physical abuse then there isn't anything that bad to deal with. But I've read articles about how psychological abuse can even cause post traumatic stress disorder. And that's if you take away the fact that whenever my brothers get angry, everyone in their path is in physical danger too. This morning alone, my youngest brother didn't like that my mom and I had our voices raised so he threw the laundry basket down the stairs at us. Then he came storming down, spit flying, voice hoarse with screams, flailing fists like a mini man hurricane of anger. He threw a punch a couple of centimeters from my face and then when I sat down in a chair he tried to wing the top of the cat tower at my head, but in his irate haste he misjudged and it hit my Mom in the head on the couch at the other side of the room. Then he started to scream about Mikey in response to me telling him that I hope the time that my Mom is gone works really well for him since I won't be buying him or anyone else any cigarettes, because I don't smoke. And I won't be driving him back and forth across town five times a day to get weed, and neither will Mikey. I wouldn't be doing his dishes, washing his clothes, making his meals, that I basically would no longer be his surrogate Mother. That's when he starts in on how neither of us do anything for anyone and he doesn't care, blah, blah, blah......and Mikey (who, what a surprise, didn't make it very far for very long, is back) thinks it would be a good idea to pop his head out of our dungeon space living quarters and ask if Sam has something to say to his face. And then later he acts as if he were actually defending me instead of himself. Because I didn't need nor ask for his help. I do just fine myself in arguments. See, I've learned that you almost always win if you stay logical and make sense and don't act like an idiot. Then you just have more weight behind you to back up the fact that you must be right, because you're not the one acting like a freak. It works for police and politicians ALL the time, so why not me? So when Mikey puts himself on my side w/out my asking and then proceeds to act like an ass, that pisses me off and makes things worse. So then him and and my little brother start fighting, Sam lunges at him and it gets physical. Then, my Mother always has to jump in the fray. So I'm yelling at them all to let go of each other, they're hurting my Mom, and they're rolling around on the kitchen floor, and my Mom's screaming, and I'm yelling at her now to just get away from them or she's going to get hurt. But in a fight no one wants to be the first person to let go because the other person might use that as an excuse to throw a sucker punch. But eventually they realized that they were hurting Helen (my Mom) and they separated. And then they act like nothing even happened and right away Mikey's all, "Hey Sam, I'll smoke you up". And I'm like "No, you won't, this is what the whole argument has been about". I get stuck in the middle because my siblings use all of their allotted money for the time Helen is away, and then they have nothing, no cigarettes, no weed, no money for food or gas, nothing. So then they start acting like horrible monsters, everyone has to walk on eggshells around them or another scene ensues where they are throwing things at you and screaming and calling you names. So I end up buying them that shit with my personal money or they money that Helen left me for taking the dog to the vet and buying groceries for everyone. She originally left me all their money too, to dole out as they needed it so it didn't get spent all at once, but that was a nightmare as you can probably imagine. Then EVERYTHING was my fault and I wasn't buying the right things and Lily didn't have enough of this or that. So I told my Mom I wasn't doing that anymore. So they have their own money allotted to them. But, like I said, they spend it all in about three days or less, and we're talking, like, a couple hundred dollars, not twenty bucks. So then she'll leave two hundred extra dollars in a "household" account that only I can access but then that makes me the middle man and puts me in a really horrible situation. I don't have a license but they're always bossing me around telling me they need this or that and they think I have all this secret money hidden away that I use to buy myself lavish things. And I'm so mean that I won't just give them what they want. They don't understand that that money is for emergencies or milk when we run out in four days, they don't understand the concept of planning and thinking ahead. So I end up doling out all that money in about two more days because now it's going to Lily, Sam, and Scooter because none of them have any of their own money left and so without fail, every week Mikey and I end up going through almost all of the money we live off on our own, which isn't very much honestly. I split Mike's unemployment with him every week which pays for my methadone, gas to get there, food for us and then, like, incidentals such as toothpaste, weed (which we hardly smoke very much of at all these days), shampoo and crap like that. I hate to admit it, but my dependence on that little bit of money is a huge reason why I am not more firm about Mike leaving. Because I have a bit of tax money I'm waiting for, but that will only go so far. I have to pay all my fines to get my license back and then Mike will take the car when he leaves, so it would leave me with very little money and no car. I maybe could buy a crapper with what's left after fines, or I could try to find a job within walking distance, but that's not proving very fruitful as of yet. So I feel really stuck and super pressured by parties on all sides. What's new? This has been my life for as long as I can remember. I know what I need to do in order to get where I want to be. I just never seem to be able to find an environment to reside in that stays stable enough, long enough for me to accomplish anything. Does that make sense? I feel like people are always making me feel as if everything really is within my control and I'm just always not making the right choices. But I feel like I try SO, SO hard to do the right thing, and work hard, and plan ahead and then something crazy, totally out of my hands happens. And I'm sort of left floundering and I have to sort of start all over again to figure out how this new situation works. And it just takes so long that way to get anywhere new, it seems so daunting that sometimes I just want to give up even trying. Not, like, kill myself. I can't stress enough how much I despise people who kill themselves. And I hate even more the people who simply act like they're going to kill themselves and then don't. Cry for help motherfuckers. Sorry to anyone who may be in that category and thinks I'm being insensitive; but I've had to live side by side with too many people who have pulled that crap. It's so hurtful to the people in your life, it's selfish and cowardly. I know there are certain instances when people have imbalances that are so severe that they really don't know what else to do, and I guess I feel a little sorry for those folks, but I feel more sorry for the people they left behind.

I think I must have been around eight years old the first time I remember being told that my Mom had tried to kill herself. She must have already had a history of being overly dramatic and self-absorbed, but I was a little kid and just saw her as my Mom still. I remember my aunt came to pick me and Scooter, my brother and the second oldest in the family, up from school. At the time we were going to The Atrium School, in Watertown, Massachusetts. It was this really liberal, artsy, private school where, looking back, all the teachers and administrators must have had their heads up their asses. I didn't get taught that you have to add numbers from the left to the right until I was almost ten years old. I just thought you were supposed to be able to look at them and know what they added up to. I just didn't understand how everyone could do it so quickly once the numbers we added got into the hundreds and thousands. Finally, one of them realized what I was trying to do and explained the correct, and much easier, way to do it. I remember being amazed. I had, at that point, acted out several Greek plays, made a Maypole and danced around it, disintegrated the shells of eggs with vinegar, made numerous cloth dolls, and gone on several treasure hunts. I could read anything, upside down and backwards. But I had no idea how to add. I guess they had certain priorities. But anyhow, back to the tale. We were picked up by my aunt, and I was surprised not to see my Mom. I always knew when my Mom was supposed to pick us up because usually on the days she didn't pick us up we had to carpool with my friend Jacob and his mom. And when we had to ride with him the car was always crowded and it smelled like baby poop and vomit, except when his little sister farted, which was often, and then we had the added benefit of two different poo smells. Yummy. I felt like I was going to puke the whole time. Every ride with them was a feat, a challenge of whether or not I could keep my stomach from ejecting it's contents. I dreaded those days. So I was highly concerned when I saw Meg rather than my Mother in the designated pick-up line. I was always an overly thoughtful, anxious person. Ever since I was born, my mother always said. My siblings were always fighting with each other and I would be sitting away from them saying, "It's not me Mom, right? You're not mad at me right?". And she would be trying to yell at them and turn to me finally and yell, "NO, NELLIE! I'm not yelling at you, am I? Just mind your own business". Or some such thing. Even to this day, she wants me to this or that, and I do it, and I try to please everyone, and she calls me a goody-two shoes. I just can't make her see me for who I am, which is sincerely a thoughtful person. I'm not doing what I do to get anything but respect and thoughtfulness in return. I don't want money, I don't want clothes or her car. I just want peace and consideration.

So Meg was there waiting for us, we climbed into her beat up old Volvo and asked where our mom was. She told us at that point only that Helen was in the hospital because she had been sick. Clearly we were worried as any children would be upon hearing such news. We rode in silence until we had made our way from Watertown over to Cambridge where my grandmother lived. But for some reason we didn't head to Grammy's house, and I really don't know what was going on as I've never asked for clarification from anyone who was old enough at the time to remember details, instead we stopped at O'Leary's which was a bar that my grandfather frequented. We were told to wait in the car while Meg ran in. She must have gone there to speak with either my grandfather, grandmother, or my Uncle Marty who may have been gathered there. So my mom's in the hospital after attempted suicide and we stop at the bar? Does anyone else think that's weird? Anyhow, from there I remember being brought back to our own house, over in East Cambridge. We lived close enough to the Charles River that we could see the Fourth of July fireworks from the roof of our townhouse, we could smell the chocolate from the factories that were next to the science museum. And I suppose we must have waited there with my aunt until my mom was released from the hospital.
I don't remember anyone trying to explain anything to us. I remember the hectic, anxious feelings in the air. I recall people rushing around and different family members coming and going. I don't know where my father was in all of this. I do know that was what we have always been told set it off that time. Helen and my father had separated, and she must have had some altercation with him. For a minute I almost confused this first time with another time. In the other incident, it was a weekend day and Helen decided to surprise my dad with fuckin donuts on a Sunday morning. And she finds him with some woman who worked for him. I guess, the story goes, she was sitting in the dining room with my father's shirt on and my mom walks in with home made donuts. I'm sure she made a scene. Probably donuts flew through the air. Sugar and cinnamon dripping down the front of the white collared shirt. But why, honestly, did she think he wanted his own place? So he could NOT fuck other women? At that point, after multiple infidelities, a woman has to make a choice. She either dumps the cheating bastard because she knows she can't live like that and he can't be faithful. Or she reconciles herself to what is the harsh reality and she finds some hot dude to fuck herself while continuing to live the life to which she has come accustomed. I would have respected her more had she made either one of those choices. But she picked an alternate course of action. Play the martyr and try to change an unchangeable situation; until everyone is so fucked up and angry that there is no foreseeable peace for anyone in the near future. Our life has been warped into this cluster-fuck of resentment, jealousy, anger, and depression.

And still, at almost sixty years old, my mother is not much different from that woman who was slumped in her bed in her East Cambridge townhouse with a wine bottle in her hand and make-up dripping down her face, blubbering to her three small children while they huddled in the doorway, unsure if there was anything they could do. We're still not sure what we can do when she decides she can't take anymore of the life she created. Not more than two nights ago she broke down because she spent too much money on Sam for his birthday, my brother Scooter went nuts with her credit card in NYC on a date with some girl he just met, my sister didn't act grateful when my mother told her that the Prius she drives everyday would be fixed by the next day; so that was it, nobody loves her, everybody hates her, guess she'll go make empty suicidal threats until we all want to pull our hair out. And the scene could have been any one from our childhood, only all of us are a little taller now. My Mom is freaking out on our siblings and I'm telling her to just calm down, she's overreacting and everyone is just tired. I tell her to leave the dishes and I'll do them very early so she won't even see them. And she turns and screams at me that she doesn't WANT me to do the dishes! Why don't I mind my own business, she knows how to run a home! So, same as twenty-five years ago, my siblings are spoiled to no end, act like assholes, my mom takes it out on me because they don't care when she's angry or upset and she needs someone to show a reaction so she fights with me instead when I'm just trying to be helpful and calm things down.

So, clearly, there is a lot more going on here than I could ever explain in crappy rant. But I'm sick and tired of having to deal with and clean up after this mess of monsters that Helen has created by never, ever setting ANY limits. She just throws money at anything that inconveniences her. If my sister is calling everyone big, fat fuckin cunts and calling the police on herself, my mom gives her money to go to a hotel for the night. Does anyone else agree that that is simply rewarding shitty behavior? I do. My sister thinks she's supposed to act like that, the worse she acts, the more she gets. Same with everyone. Except me, if I act out, even a little bit, or even if I'm not being unreasonable, if I'm just even questioning something my mother or someone is doing, I get attacked. She's thrown me out more times than I can remember before I even turned eighteen because I would try to tell her how to raise her kids. I'd tell her Lily was fucking twenty-five year olds and smoking cigarettes when she was fourteen, and my brother was doing acid at the dinner table, and she'd tell me to get the fuck out, I wasn't the parent and I was starting problems. She still resents me for pointing out the negative and wanting solutions. NO NELLIE! We look the other way, pretend it doesn't matter and let it eat away at our insides until we are so raw and bleeding that we need blood transfusions because the stress has caused ulcers that bleed through our ass, like you MOM.

Wow, I'm angry today. When I get treated the same as I did when I was sixteen, I get so angry, I want to burst. I don't even know what to do because I know that nothing I can say or do will matter. I just have to bide my time, try to get out alive, try to care more about myself, stop thinking that if I'm just nice enough, calm enough, if I do enough, if I clean enough than my mother will see that I'm good and and my siblings are not. That will never happen, she will never limit them, she will never reprimand them, she will never put her foot down, she will let them suck every single drop of energy from her and she wants me to do the same and I can't! I don't want for her to not love them, you can love someone who you think is wrong, you can tell them you don't love their actions while you still love them. She thinks that setting limits is the same as limiting her love for them. I think that if she loved us all more, she would have set limits when we we younger, she wouldn't have let us do whatever we wanted. Didn't she worry about us, worry is love, is caring. Letting your pre-adolescent children smoke cigarettes is not love, it nuts.

I have to go eat something before I faint. I can't not eat anything all day long like my mother and sister. Being a size zero is not worth my health and sanity, sorry. I won't starve myself because they think I'm fat! I'm so fucking tired of other people telling me I'm fat. Or talking about how fat they are in front of me when the are a size zero! Or telling me not to eat a brownie on my brother's birthday, it'll make it so I don't lose weight. Maybe I'm not all that concerned about my weight. I know I could stand to lose some, and I am, slowly. That's good enough for me. And lots of people still seem to find me attractive, so perhaps, Helen, it's possible to enjoy life and eat good foods and still people will love you even if you have a little roll on your tummy. I like having tits and an ass. I think they want to starve me so I look like a plank or a little boy, just like them. FUCK THEM! That's how I feel today, just fuck them all!

A Quick Morning Rant

Ah, taking advantage of the few moments of peace and quiet before the whole house is alive with the raging personalities of those I now live with. Amazingly, everyone is still asleep. That's kind of unusual for a Tuesday morning, or any morning for that matter. Generally, my Mom is buzzing around me, picking up my coffee cup, to put in the sink, before I've finished drinking it or vacuuming under my feet. All the while on the phone or dictating plans for the day, hour, or week. I love my Mom, she is, of course, the woman who gave me my life. But she can be insanely overbearing, over-dramatic, and over-sensitive.

I'm trying to write this post and drink my coffee, just chilling. But I really need to clean up the mess from last night's Birthday dinner for Sam. It's a mountain of plates and platters, water and wine glasses. And I hate the way they load the dishwasher and my Mom will be put out if it's not done and I'm just sitting here writing. She'll say it's fine, she doesn't WANT me to do it, just stay out of the kitchen. But inside she'll be fuming, thinking I'm ungrateful and lazy. So I'm off to do some dishes, and then I'll pop back.....

Okay, finished all the crap that can be put in the dishwasher. We aren't allowed to put real silver, or ceramic painted serving platters in there. I guess they chip, which makes sense. So now I just have about five bowls, three or four pots and pans, some casserole dishes and all the silverware. And of course I know that nobody cares about this. But it's a more or less a permanent way to have proof of the shit I do. Blogger logs the time and date so I can't be accused of lying or tampering with facts. So when I have to defend myself to my Mom because of whatever (most likely because my sister is asserting I did or didn't do this or that), I can pull up this post and say, "See, remember this day, or that day, and remember I did all this work?". And then she can't claim I didn't. We've also begun to video tape my sister when she's being psycho so we can show my Mom when she's not here. And maybe one day we'll show Lily herself so she can see how horrible she looks when she's acting like that. Oh, look at me going on and on..........Listening to Joni Mitchell, and still the house is QUIET, it's a miracle.

Well, I made it pretty far into the morning with some peace and solitude. Except for the animals, but I much prefer animals to people. My brother came downstairs just as I was finishing up the final dishes. Kitchen is finally clean. Now it will probably stay that way for about an hour, if I'm lucky. I wish every morning could be this nice. I suppose that would entail me having to live alone, which I really don't want to do actually. I like living with other people most of the time. It's just that my family is made up of very temperamental people. Everyone has a short temper, including me. Some people here take it out in worse ways than others though. I may lose my temper and snap a bit, but I get over it very quickly and am ready to apologize when I'm wrong. And I only think I'm not as bad as the rest of them anymore because I've lived away from home long enough to learn that you can't act like that in public, in the "real" world. If you bug on the wrong person, you may get hurt. You can't swear at teachers, landlords, bosses, judges, police, neighbors, etc without suffering probable consequences. The rest of my family hasn't learned that because every time they piss off an outsider, they just pay their way out of it. And we're not really rich, so they end up spending a lot of money on lawyers and fines that could have been used for much more productive things. It's really frustrating that they haven't learned how to behave.

They take so much for granted, even each other. My sister and brothers just expect my Mom to support them. My Mom, thinking she's avoiding conflict, just gives in repeatedly to their expectations. So it's a real vicious cycle that's been created here, and I do not feel as if I have the power to stop it. I feel like the best way is to just try to stay calm and appreciative of all that I receive from this situation.

Warning: The following contains major bitching and complaining

I've really been trying to make a workable living situation with Mikey until we can get our store going and find our own places to live. But it's really getting worse and worse. He lives here with me at my my Mom's, for basically free, and he's just never happy. He compares his situation to that of my brother's, and he's jealous that they get everything from my Mom and do nothing. He doesn't understand that he's not her child and their situation just isn't his business, at all. He just needs to concentrate on his own problems and needs, as long as he has what he needs to be comfortable, and he's fulfilling his obligations, what is there to fret about? But all I hear is him complaining about not saving any money yet, and my brothers and sister do nothing and get hand outs, and why don't I clean the downstairs NOW, and why does my mother do this or that, and bitch, bitch, bitch. I just can't hear it anymore. Meanwhile, he sleeps until at least eleven every morning, while I get up no later than seven to go to the clinic. He's supposed to be driving me anyhow, because I have no license. So every day I drive myself is a gamble, I may get pulled over - but he just hates to get up early, and we wouldn't want that. Whaaa, whaaa, poor Mikey. It's seriously a toss up, would I rather go to jail or be stuck in the car with Mikey swearing at me or lecturing me for an hour and a half? It's really that awful to be with him in the morning that it's worth the risk to me, really, it is.
He makes me SO MAD!!! I was having an okay morning before he got up. It would have been better if my sister's boyfriend hadn't still been here, blabbing in our living room, even though my sister had left at seven. He hangs around bragging about how awesome a skier he is and telling us all kinds of shit we already know about the mountains. And I just really don't like him, he just rubs me the wrong way, and he has ever since I first met him when he was about thirteen. He's always been an obnoxious little fucker. He sits in my Mom's living room with his sweaty feet up on the coffee table, and lounges back on the couch as if he owns the place, in his stupid, saggy, yet somehow uncomfortably fitted long underwear. With his dried out, frizzy-ass, Cramer hair-do sticking up all over his greasy head, UGH! I really hate him. He screams everything he says and laughs this jarring, dog bark laughter; this series of HA, HA, HA"S as if he's caught you out on something. ICK! So maybe, afterall, my morning was sucky as soon as I got home from the clinic and walked into him commandeering the living room with his shady energy and scheming ways.

So I snuck into the dining room to try to create my own area of chillness. But, of course, I could still hear him, which begun this battle in my head of "I can do it, just relax and ignore him vs. Grrrr, I want to smack him and kick him in the ass right out the door". I managed to stay away from him until he left, but I couldn't shake the heavy, itching sensation in my chest, the feeling of unease. But I had my space in the dining room, with my tea and my computer, and it was getting late and I needed to eat something before it made me even more upset because my blood sugar begins to drop. I get really cranky when I'm hungry, so I decided to make an egg around my mother and her baking, because I was really hungry. See, my Mom had already started making my brother's Birthday Brownies (his request, rather than a cake), and she had stuff all over the kitchen counters. So right about then, Mikey comes stumbling upstairs with his hair sticking up all over his head and his eyes still filled with sleep. And he wants a cup of coffee, so I start that for him. All he had to do was push a button and then add milk and sugar. Simple. Then I felt obligated to ask him if he wanted one. But I wasn't really into making it for him, and things were hectic, but I cracked him two eggs alongside mine. But then I only put toast in for myself and he bugged out. Why couldn't I make him some too? But I've been up all morning, for hours, putting out the trash, cleaning up closets, driving to the clinic, and I'm hungry. He just got up, why can't he make his own toast and put his own plate together. Instead, he walks right into the dining room, sits down right in front of the laptop where I was sitting, and proceeds to minimize all my pages and check his own shit. All my stuff was there, I only got up to make the eggs, and he takes over my whole shit. And he does this, like, every time I sit anywhere with the computer. It really pisses me off. So I was bitching about it and telling him to make his own shit if he was going to consider my getting up to make food a good enough reason for him to consider me done with the computer. And he kept telling me to shut up and quit bitching. So my Mom told him, partially joking but sort of serious, to stop swearing at me and calling me names. And he got all huffy and collected all his stuff and stormed off. He said he wasn't eating his eggs now, either.
So I brought his stupid breakfast down to him and told him I hoped he choked on it while he was packing his shit so he could get the fuck out of my Mother's house. And he was all, "Mlyaa, fuck you, I am". So I hope he is, but I doubt it, because that would be too good to be true. I've been telling him to go to live with his own family now for months, so what would possibly have changed to make him finally leave now? Maybe he finally realized that I am really just trying to get the store going so we can both have money, but that's it. We're not a couple, how can we be? I can't be with someone for the rest of my life who treats me like a mix between his mother and his sister. I was willing to let him be my roommate until we got a store going, but he just can't stay here if he can't be grateful and pleasant more often than not.

Whatever, I'm almost done bitching for now. I'm sure I'm going to have to deal with his bullshit for the rest of the day. Which is going to suck because it's also Sam's birthday, and even though he's twenty he still thinks that everyone should only care about him today, and nothing else. He was horrified that me and my sister didn't remember to wish him happy birthday as soon as we saw him. (And I did wish him happy birthday before I went to bed last night, and it was almost midnight. So basically I was the first one to say it at all) I wasn't even thinking straight at that point. And I don't recall him being very pleasant to me on my birthday, in fact, everyone was an asshole that day. I'm sick of everyone thinking that they are the only ones who matter. And all the rest of us should bow down to their needs.

You know, I'll miss him to an extent when he's gone, but how can I ever move on with him here? I really don't want to be alone, at my Mom's house. That's, like, totally reverting to being at the level of a sixteen year old, only I'm thirty-one. But I just feel like he's not helping me to help us to move forward. He is too depressed and angry for me to be around, dealing with that shit is a waste of time. We have too much to get done if we are ever going to have a store. And really that was always his thing, not mine. But I do think it could make money and therefore give me a certain freedom from having to work shitty jobs. I'd have to work, of course, only it would be for myself. That's harder to give up than him, I think. Is that awful? I just want to be independent and I've got so far to go to be there. It seems so daunting. I just have to keep telling myself that it will work itself out, I will find a way for myself to be happy and feel useful. After the initial shitiness, I think that I could be a lot better off if Mikey would just go his own way. I don't care if he wants to go open his store on his own, or whatever. And I know he's going to be super unfair about what he takes, he'll try to take everything, and for the most part I really don't care about that either.

Right now I'm just pissed off at everyone. I'm mad at my Mom because she expects too much from me and not enough from anyone else. Even she herself admits this to be true. I really can't take it. I'm not perfect, at all. She never listens to anything I say, she will sit and whine to me all day and then if I have an issue it's "yeah, yeah, yeah, not now, Nellie. Don't ruin your brother's birthday". Well, today it's the birthday but it could be anything. It could be Lily's upset already, or it's already been too much with Scooter's problems. Because I always kind of went off on my own people figured I was fine. It's like that at the methadone clinic too. Because I'm the best of the worst they push me to the wayside. I may be an addict freak, but at least I'm not an addict freak who's pregnant or already has kids, or is living in a box or something. So I'm not the priority. I don't really need to be top priority, really. But it would be nice, once in a while, to be on the list at all.

Fuck this whiny shit. I need to go for a walk, pretend I don't live here and that I don't have to come back. Sorry for anyone who may have subjected themselves to this drivel. I'm not sure if that's correctly spelled, but I like the word so I'm keeping it. Have a Good One.