I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell...
2:10 p.m. | 2004-12-24
My dad is making me make a doctors appointment on Monday.
He wants me psychologically evaluated.
Can’t blame him really, I’ve been considering it myself for years, and I guess today make the decision for me.
I hate my mother.
I mean really. And not in that, “oh-she-made-me-mad-so-I’m-going-to-say-mean-things-and-ignore-her-for-a-few-days”….
I really just hate her.
She’s made my life hell the past 22 years and today I snapped. Everyone tells me just to deal with her obsessive compulsive narcissistic ways, but a person can only do that for so long.
Last night I made Christmas cookies to take over to Tyler’s family’s house. I had them laid out on a platter on the kitchen table ready to go when I went over there later today.
I ran to the store and when I came back, my mother had taken my platter of cookies and shoved them all into the cookie jar, smashing and breaking all of them…
Her excuse?
“I wanted to wash the platter”
Two days ago I told her I was going to make an apple pie for Christmas Eve day…
She went out that night and bought four pies from the grocery store…
Her excuse?
“Get over it”
So I snapped…
She raised her hands to me first…
She came closer and I did the only thing she ever taught me how to do…
I don’t think I would have stopped if my grandmother wouldn’t have stepped in…
Grandma says it’s my fault.
I think she’s full of shit, mainly because she doesn’t live here and has no idea what we go through daily just living with my mother.
I hate her.
I honestly don’t think it would bother me if she died.
And I don’t mean that in a vicious way, I just know that emotionally, it wouldn’t bother me.
My grandparents raised me from the time I was a few months old. I never bonded with my mother. She was a stranger, a really mean heartless stranger.
My dad was my everything.
I’d give my life for my dad and I would give up everything I had to take care of him if I had to…
He doesn’t like my mother either. He’s so miserable here. He buys, pays and takes care of everything we have, and my mother takes it all for granted.
She’s never wanted anything because my dad has always given it to her before she even asked.
Yet she tells him he’s worthless, and won’t even answer the phone when he calls from the train station at night looking for a ride home…
“He can walk” she snuffs…
I told him today that I couldn’t take it anymore and that I was leaving. I was moving out because I couldn’t stand living in the same house with her anymore…
He paused and took a step back…
“I’m so close to losing everything I have,” he said in a low voice. “If you leave, I’ll file for divorce, I’ll sell both houses and the land up in Modesto and it will all be over. Don’t make a stupid mistake, you’ve got it good here, don’t let her ruin everything…”
I was crying hysterically, and I finally made the confession that I knew something was wrong with me…
I didn’t tell him that because I was taking the blame for my mother’s behavior, I told him that because of the way I feel day in and day out.
Depressed, suicidal, helpless, worthless, angry….
I’m always so angry.
I hate getting up in the morning because all I can think about is how bad this day has the potential of turning out.
I snap. I scream. I’m violent. I cry uncontrollably without actually being about to pin point a reason…
I avoid social situations because I don’t like the character of people.
And because I’m not physically or mentally strong enough to actually commit suicide, I pray.
I pray that God would just take me home.
I beg him to please, please not let me wake up the next morning…
But I always do.
And everything starts all over again…