Don't Read This (Just too F*cking Long also unedited)

    I don’t remember the last time I wrote. Maybe, a month ago, but at the same time I’m not really sure. Sometimes I have trouble writing cause I always feel like doing it when I’m laying in bed starting to fall asleep or just kind of laying there hoping sleep will take me soon. Other times I have trouble writing because I know Larkspur reads this. She doesn’t always do it regularly and sometimes only does it ever few months, but the fact they she will at one point stumble upon these. Read them, decipher them and maybe understand them. Well this occasionally holds me back from being 100% truthful that I get creative and throw in a shit ton of symbolism, where sometimes the only way you know what I’m talking about is if you actually know whats going on with my life. 

    There’s also that teeny tiny little fear that someone I know in the world will find these, randomly and by accident. If they ever did than there is little chance that they’d actually know this was mine as very few people are aware of me writing online and again the shit ton of symbolism I use. It’s funny cause I wasn’t too big of a fan of symbolism in high school, I found it difficult to decipher and understand. I’ve now come to appreciate it in a way that only another author could. Not that I would call myself an author. My random ass short stories don’t really count in my opinion.

    Still there have been a few things weighing on my mind recently that keep me awake at night. Yesterday it was so bad I almost went into a panic attack, in order to keep myself from the swirling vortex of thoughts I had to go into a meditative state and focus almost solely on my breathing before venturing into my mind scape. That was the only reason I actually fell asleep last night, I might have to start meditating every night again, because my thoughts have been keeping me up more often than not recently. There is just so much bullshit that suddenly comes to the forefront of my mind when I’m about to fall asleep. During the day it’s easy to block all of them out, because of all the noise around me. I can just let random youtube videos play for hours on end or listen to music, even open my door so I can hear the tv from the living room. That or just focus on my task like a normal human being. Did I mention people watching? Distractions from myself are so easy to find during the day it’s night when I’m worried.

     Recently I’ve been feeling less at home in my house than ever before. I live in my grandmothers home along with my father. It’s a pretty big house with three stories above land and one bellow along with a huge garden. Really the house was meant for six people, but then my grandfather past away, mother left, eventually stealing away Azael, leaving just three. Because of this there are a lot of unused rooms now, my grandfathers old room that acts like a guest room, my brothers room and a random spare bedroom that my grandmother uses for storage. All three of the rooms smell of disuse and abandonment, even though I tend to clean them when I can and open windows when it’s nice. The size of the house and the inhabitants make it unbearable to live there sometimes, so after a while I took to just keeping my doors closed all the time, keeping to my space. My bedroom became home and everything else was just stuff. I guess it made it easier to live in such a huge and empty home, knowing that at one point it was lively and lived in and now it’s the opposite. At one point Aster started coming over every Friday and staying until Sunday, another human in the house made the place more bearable, made it feel more alive I guess. Recently my father went on a week long business trip, leaving me the car with a full tank. When he got back the tank was almost half empty. I ended up driving to school every day, but not only that I drove to Aster’s house pretty much everyday right after school as well. Sometimes I would drive straight there if I ended late enough, others I’d drive home only to drop off my stuff grab a quick bite to eat and tell my grandmother I’ll be back late. More often than not I stayed there till late in the evening, driving home only to sleep and repeat the process. I preferred this over staying in an almost desolate house. I hate it when it’s all quite and empty, only the occasional creaks from the floors or drafts shutting things, because it’s an old house. At night this plays on my imagination, but if I come home tired from being around people all day and being in Asters home well than I pass right on out when I get to bed.

    Sometimes I wish I could erase my memories. Just everything that I had from 16 and under can be whipped clean and forgotten. It would hurt less. Not knowing what it feels like to have a loving family and then suddenly finding out that it’d been slowly going downhill since I was a child, until finally it’s ripped away from you completely. In theory I still have them; my mother, brother and grandmother are in the states, while my father and gram are here, but it just feels forced now. Every time I visit it feels like my mother is cramming in as much affection as possible, spoiling me with food, taking me to old favorites and buying me new clothes, even though I know she’s on a tight budget now. There are times where I feel she only really acknowledges Azael when I’m there. It’s like she wants to remember us always being together ignoring the fact that in reality we live with an ocean between us and it’s all her fault. There are times where I forget that this is all a forced charade, that Azael and I don’t have a secret list of things that we can’t talk about in front of our parents, that we don’t both in some shape or form suffer from depression. Mine was luckily much worse than his, probably because he was just a tad too young to completely understand what was going on at the time. The boy lost a lot of confidence. He became hesitant to make new friends fearing that they would be ripped away from him eventually. Turning to the internet, because there distance didn’t matter and no one could take them from him. He kept up his grades and cleaned his room, that way mother wouldn’t nag and fights wouldn’t break out too often between the two. And me well, I’m just another open and shut case of a child dealing with a dead family, because that’s what they feel like. I hate visiting my grandmother and listening to her plead with me. Beg me to stay or visit as soon as I can. Every time I see her I feel like I see her less and less like a close family figure and more like a distant relative that saw me as a baby years ago. She’s most likely suffering from abandonment issues and depression. I know she’s on some kind of medication and that whenever she takes it she starts sounding like she’s drunk. More often than not I just smile and nod when I see her, trying to lie as little as possible, even though I’m already drowning in non-truths. The easiest person to talk about is the grandmother I live with. Even though we live in the same house I don’t see her too often since there is a door that separates her from the rest of the house. She sort of has her own private wing with a kitchen, living room and bedroom all to herself. There have been time were I only saw his in passing in the morning while making breakfast or just going to the kitchen in general. We tend to just say good morning to each other, sometimes asking how our days are going. Although I mostly just say it’s good and let my grandmother ramble on. She’s sweet but stubborn and I’m grateful that all I have to do is show her that I’m alive, say everything’s ‘good’ and she’s satisfied with that. The only downside is that I have to keep my tattoos hidden from her, although eventually I will show them to her, probably sooner rather than later.

    Over the years my relationship with my father has evolved drastically. When I was younger I was a daddies girl, even had a fucking pink t-shirt with those words written in white sparkles on it. I will admit if someone asked me to chose between my parents I would choose my father. He was the laid back one, the kind one who really had no flaws that I could see. He worked a lot so I only really got to see him in the evenings, but he helped with homework and rarely ever yelled at me. I would do anything to try to get him to be proud of me. I suffered through two or three years of soccer for him, because he wanted one of his kids to play. Let me tell you I was fucking awe full at the sport and I hated all the running. At one point we had the option to learn an instrument which I was super interested in, but ended up not doing because it collided with my soccer schedule. That and when my mom found out I wanted to learn to play the trumpet she quickly vetoed. Eventually I quite and focused more on my grades in school. I was already a b+ student so I bumped it up to all A’s to see if I could get my fathers approval then. Nope, nadda just a good job and a pat on the head. Why’s that, because despite my good grades I was still in the average curriculum and not in the advanced one. If you scored high enough you could be bumped up a level in math or english or both. My father was always disappointed I wasn’t in the advanced math group even though I tried my best and gave it my all it was never enough really. This carried over with the move, but only really held up for a year. I broke in late 2010. Everyday for almost a week I’d been studying for a math test with my father. I felt like I knew the material and was confident I would pass. I put a lot of hope into that test. After changing countries and languages and struggling with everything except english, well math because a secret love hate subject of mine. Love because it was mostly numbers, I didn’t need to know the language to understand the problem and solve it, hate because my brain was humanitarian- geared toward art and writing. Those were my strong point back there, in this new place though they were practically worthless. I got the test back a week later and cried my eyes out alone in my bed room. Eventually I told my parents and all they had was pity in their eyes. That was the day I cracked and and started to slowly shatter into a million pieces. I stopped trying to impress my father after that, no longer really caring for his approval but still sometimes secretly wishing for it. More often than not I wished to have been born a boy, because that way I would more likely be mathematically inclined like my brother. When mother left the house felt very light for a few weeks, the only yelling heard was father trying to force Azael to do his homework. The rest of the time it felt like we were walking on clouds, no longer worried about aggravating our mother, or worried that she’ll suddenly start yelling for no reason. For a short period of time it felt like we were back in our childhood home, where there was only positive energy and love all around. Damn, I sound like a fucking hippie, but that’s what it felt like. Eventually, only my father and I were left. Both broken, somber, our smiles never seemed to reach our eyes we both just existed for a short while. We relied on each other a lot then. Taking comfort in knowing that we survived this ‘war,’ yet also crying over Azael the ‘victim.’ We started talking to each other more, going out and doing things together, relying on one another. Eventually after almost two years my father started dating, he seemed to be healed after that thing we went through. Me, I was better, better at hiding things, speaking in half truths, keeping to myself, shutting things down inside me. My better was the stark black glove that few seemed to question. This is were everything started to slowly change, because here is where Anna come in. Anna was a girl my father started to date eventually becoming a pair. I was honestly happy for him, he left the house more, seemed more cheerful and just better in general. I’d started dating Aster not too long ago so we both had new relationships, although they were drastically different. While Aster’s and my relationship was calm and slow building, theres was like a whirlwind after they set down some ground rules. I quickly became number two in my fathers heart eventually becoming number three until finally I disappeared from his thoughts almost entirely. We stopped going out together, we stopped talking as much and we became more distant, at least I did with him. I don’t think he ever noticed that we drifted apart, that I stopped… He used to tell me about his day, what stupid things his boss asked him to do and interesting conversations he had with his co-workers. He’d than ask me about mine and we would casually talk for a good half an hour. Now though I rarely got anything from him, he started saying work was work so I started replying school was school. He stopped telling me things like, hey I’m not going to be back till like ten in the evening cause after work I’m going out. Or just things he was going to change around the house, what he wanted to renovate, that something broke and I wasn’t suppose to use it. I don’t remember how many times I heard him say, ‘Oh, I didn’t tell you? Must have only told Anna and Gram than.’ It came down to me just being his investment. ‘After all someones got to take care of me once I’m old and gray.’ After hearing that so many times and seeing the drop in affection and care you stop seeing the father and start seeing the jail keeper. Not that I can say I live in a jail, I have it pretty decent. I have food, internet connection, a warm bed and little responsibilities. As long as I play the good student everythings fine. It’s when I break the mold and be myself that my father gets annoyed, because I’m not doing what he wants me to do. Well heres a quick fuck off to you ‘daddy.’ Did you know in the morning I’m a total fucking bitch, especially when I slept like shit? You know what I appreciate in the mornings, quite and just leaving me the fuck alone in general. I’m not a fucking morning person like you are, but no matter how many fucking times I tell you it never seems to get through your damn thick skull. So when you start sassing me in the morning, know this I’m going to be a queen bitch to you, because I don’t want to deal with any of your god damn sass. I want some coffee and maybe food. I want to stop feeling like there’s sand in my eyes and a cloud inside my brain, but I need time for that to happen. So when you start bugging me and pushing your expectations on me from early in the morning than I’m going to flip you off and your expectations, because guess what it’s morning and I could just as easily do those things in two hours. But, no you end up acting the the biggest fucking baby on the planet and start to ignore me. Maybe if I just ignore the adult female that resides in this home I can convince myself that she’s just a ghost and not my daughter. Oh, don’t worry asshat, cause I stopped being your daughter a while ago, there’s no need to worry your pretty little head over it. This is what my relationship with my father has come to- a pissing match. Not a very interesting one either since we’re both content to just ignore one another. I try not to think about him to much, because he just makes me angry. An emotion I don’t enjoy and try to keep locked away, so I try to stick to annoyance.

    So that’s just a small crash course of family relationships. Stay tuned for some more crap.

    Since I’m currently sitting in my uni’s huge as library, not planning on being home sooner than 20, might as well continue spilling my guts since I don’t have anyone else to spill them to. 

    Recently, my brain keeps telling me to break up with Aster and I really don’t know why. Every time my brain brings it up my heart hurts and protests, saying why!? I’m just as confused, because Aster is one of the few people that give any sort of meaning to my life. Any physical affection I get these days, when I’m not over at my moms, is from him. He cares, he writes, he puts up with my stupidity. He does so much! 

    So why does my brain keep suggesting that I break up with him, when it physically pains me to think of such a think. Is it a self defense mechanism? Could it be my brain going, hey you don’t deserve him specially since you’re going to die soon anyway, so just leave him be. Let him live his life. I’m really not sure. It’s not something I could every bring up to him, but it’s something that I will have to tell Larkspur about, maybe she can help me understand this mess.