traintracks

(no subject)

I am a horrible person. For the past few days, I've been thinking about school shootings. I think, many times they are justifyable, as long as it's only those who have hurt you that you hurt back. This is bad, on my part, for believing this. I am messed up, you don't have to tell me twice. Maybe people really couldn't handle the way people treated them any longer- maybe I understand.
traintracks

(no subject)

My father, has changed, the locks on his house. Those commas are for reading purposes only. Those are me breathing. He changed the locks, and didn't give my grandmother or myself a key. Yesterday, he took my laptop while I was at work. I came home, and he had fixed my hallway light and fan, and I was happy- that was daddy finally playing the fatherly role, and then I go reach under my bed for the computer, and it's gone. So I call him from ten until about three or so this afternoon. Finally I gave up and went to his house, only to find out the former. >.< My father has no sense of owning a child.
So tomorrow, I get a new laptop, of which I will have to pay off in the next 18 months. It's nice. And I need a computer. I about go insane without one.
Father, leaves for Jamaica again on tuesday. Well, not exactly sure where. He says, "First, Florida. Then, well you don't have to know you aren't my family anways. I'll go wherever the fuck I want, I'm a grown man."
I do not have a father.
Fuck Jamaica. Fuck money. Fuck me having too high of standards for family members.
My grandmother says I have to hide my new laptop. Dad might take it. She wants me to get emancipated. If I get emancipated, I feel like I'll be doing the same thing to my father, as my mother did to me. He deserves it. I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt. He's not an all around bad guy- although everyone would like me to shut up and accept that he is. I love my father- I just wish he would grow up.
traintracks

(no subject)

Honestly, for some people there's got to be this breaking point. Once you get past that point you're entirely lost and you can't find your way back. If you're lucky someones got you by a string holding you so that they can pull you out when you're ready. Why am I not ready yet?
Today was my first day of vacation. Instead of resting, I spent the day running errands, and then working a six to close at Dairy Queen. I had the option to not work. I didn't have to go in. I could have spent my night relaxing. Getting stuff I promised to get done for people done. But because I have to pay my way for everything, I couldn't. It's an odd feeling. When I was little I was never so tied down. Now, when given the option to work or not to work, the first thing that pops into my head is not, "I want the money," it's "I need the money." It makes me feel entirely pathetic. Atleast I talk to my boss a lot when we work alone together- about my father, my financial situation, what I want to do when I'm older. And he takes silly pictures of me making blizzards for a collage he is making of all employees. It's like, a therapy session. Except, it only works while I'm there. I'm not being judged and I can say what I want to say. I can complain about the stupid girls at school that I pretend to get along with completely even though their habits of complaining about almost every small situation boggle my mind. I then had an epihpany- the only reason it bothers me, is because I know their situations aren't as horrible as they think they are, because I've seen and endured worse. To them, their situation is hopeless. So I shouldn't let their complaining bother me anymore.
My father would not allow me to have my passport today. That's okay. I'll be fine. I'll have to sneak into the house and get it. His house. I can't breathe in that house anymore. I am afraid of it. I looked into the situation with the low income housing going up near Brooks. Most of them are two bedroom, and from what you can see from the outside windows, they look nice enough. It's a roof over my head, what more could I want? The only problem is, gram doesn't want to live there. She wants to be somewhere nice, a home. I say, give me anything. Come August if I'm homeless just because my grandmother refuses to live in low/middle income housing, I will be infuriated.
NH Idol auditions are tomorrow. I have no legal gaurdian to accompany me at this point. My back hurts, and the B key on my keyboard keeps popping off. I should glue it. I want to read. A lot, all the books I've wanted to read in the past year that I haven't had time for, I want to read this vacation. But this vacation really isn't one at all. I shall find some spare time, to play guitar in the corner of my room and never let anyone hear what I'm writing. To listen to music that makes me cry just because it feels good and I can relate to it, and to read books while in bed all alone. I've got, tomorrow off, and friday during the day.
I have been spending so much time contemplating all the areas of my life I am slowly failing in. Eventually I am going to make the one person I care about hate me, just by how I've been acting lately. I've been so hostile. I just feel like if I can't make anyone completely happy, why try? I don't mean to hurt, I don't mean to snap or frustrate. I don't mean to not have time to keep promises. I just have so much going on it's hard to handle. I feel like slowly I will make things fall apart.
But there he is, holding onto that string until I'm ready. Thank god.
love

(no subject)

I made the one person in the world that I honestly love with all of my heart cry this weekend. I have become a monster. I also showed my weakest side- I do not regret this, but I am embarrassed by it.
Daddy never wanted his swaddling bundle of joy. For it was not a bundle of joy but rather a bundle of problems. Meep. Father is selling the house. There's an open house this weekend. Atleast I will not be in the house. My grandmother and I are going to try a one bedroom to move into. This will prove to be interesting.
In August my grandmother is making me meet one of my siblings I have never met. I do not want to do this. Most of my family cannot stand me, why would I want to meet anyone else?
I leave the country in a little over a week. A small getaway. If Patrick were traveling with me, I would run away while we were there, that way we wouldn't have to come back to this city.
I am old. We have come to this conclusion. This does infact scare me. I really do not know what to do with myself anymore.
braids

(no subject)

O.O *shock and dismay* Myspace, the popular networking community, has now added a "delete from friends" button to bulletin posts. Apparently this has gotten some peoples panties in a bunch, because now when you say something obligerant, or people wonder why they have this random person added that really isn't neccasary, it makes it much easier to eradicate the culprate. Your number of friends dropping? Perhaps this is because they don't find your "New Pics! Commentz plz! Whore for whore!" posts to be as exhilerating as you thought they were. Girl, you were just another face. >.> I hope your number of friends does not determine your life. Psh, you'll never beat Tila Tequila o.O

(no subject)


I don't understand why heterosexuality can be introduced to second graders with no problems but homosexuality cannot. Are these double standards?- and why do children need to be sheltered? I don't see how it's okay for children to see a male and female kiss, and not for male and male, or female and female. On television, in the streets, you see heterosexual couples kissing, fondling, etc, but a love story about a prince and a prince finding true love within eachother is out?


Other information:



You would think the controversey would have been dealt with in the past, when this childrens book came out. Also, the book being moved to the adult section of libraries as "adult literature"? That seems completely propostrous. Why are people so afraid of what's real?
I have known that I was attracted to females since around the age of five. I told one single friend in first grade. Which is a year before these kids are seeing this book.
I officially came out in middle school, eigth grade, not to my parents and family, but to my friends. I think that discriminating the idea of a homosexual relationship to children might send them a worse message than letting them read it. I was old enough to know what I liked- people could be hurting their children by not letting them see it. Many people could be homosexual, or bisexual, and just repress it due to societies often idealistic views of what a relationship should be. My idealistic view: it should be about love. That doesn't sound too off base, does it?

Quote:"which is why you get guys who, at 30, suddenly divorce and ruin the lives of their wives, kids, and families, by announcing that they're gay and running off leaving them to fend for themselves"
glasses

(no subject)

Today I stopped and took a deep breathe as I entered my fathers house. I made it through a school day, and knew more was to come. I walked upstairs, and my father who knew full well that he was to give me a ride to work, was laying on the couch drinking. On the table, empty bottles. "You look fat," he said, as booze oozed off of his lips and swam it's way up my nostrils. I was completely disgusted.
I use my father. He is not my father. He is a man, a child. He does not fall into the category of father. He is here to be a fater, and sometimes to help with money. If he doesn't act like a father, and I have a hard time saying in all honesty that I really care about him lately, wouldn't I be using him for the few dollars he throws at me every month? I feel as though, I would be better without a father. I would have less battering and not have to be afraid to go home. Or have him drive me to work drunk. I never feel safe with my father.
My father does not love me. My father does not like me. I constantly tell myself this isn't true- but it really sets in sometimes. Patrick and I were having a talk about it the other day as we lay on his bed. Stroking my hair, I looked into his eyes and told him exactly how I was feeling. I feel worthless and entirely confused. I don't know how to please my father, because nothing I do for him ever gets anywhere- in the end he still calls me a "stupid cunt" for leaving my sweatshirt on the couch because I'm rushing to get to work. He runs off to Jamaica for months at a time and then comes back to the states and expects to become an authority figure in my life again. "He doesn't love you Chantel," Patrick says. I believe him.
Putting all naive idealistic thoughts aside, I have had very few people in my life actually treat me as a human being. Most everybody has never always been there for me, and that's okay. I've come to know and accept that. I am so grateful for those few that are. I do not trust men. Every man that has ever come into my life has hurt me one way or another.
I feel horrible when I say this, but last year when my father became arrested for second degree assault on me, I wish there had been harsh punishment. Not a short lived restraining order. At the time, I wanted to be with him. I was scared without him. He hurt me, but I was comfortable with being hurt. Now, I wish he had learned something.
He has learned nothing. My father resembles an entirely ignorant seven year old.
I am almost eighteen. I am almost done with highschool, and I can almost leave, but I know I won't. Although I've been supporting myself, I am so afraid of the outside world. I'm afraid of being alone. I am afraid I will fail. I have been brainwashed.
One day I am going to write a book for my father.
Patrick comes home from Boston tomorrow. Everytime I think of him being there, I think of NY, as though the distance seems that much. He called tonight, but I was at work. My father picked me up a half hour late- still drinking.
My mother was smart.
I am ready to move on. I honestly could become emancipated from my father, and my life situation would only change in the fact that I wouldn't have a ride days I can't find another way to work. I only get rides from him if I can't find anything else. Is that a father? One who gives rides to a desperate daughter?
whitepark

(no subject)

I am in bed. I can clearly see my pet rat Clementine Annarellabella Bigglesnooth stretching in the corner of her cage. I have not cleaned it in what seems like weeks. She hates me. I am extremely apathetic towards the situation for this very reason. I don't like knowing that I control her. I control her very existence because she is unable to provide for herself.She is just like many people I run into each day. I should clean her cage, but if I try, she will bite me. Nobody is grateful for what they are given.
Lately this has been bothering me. I try not to laugh and shake my head when the people I go to school with complain because this year their parents didn't take them on a fancy vacation like they have done consecutively for the past ten years. As though, doing something special like that is something every being should be accustomed to, and not something special at all. If you were truly grateful for all of the prior visits to far off lands you have made, would you really take the time to whine to your friends about the fact that this year Madrid is out, and you're going to say, Oklahoma instead? It's not only big annoyances like this that are driving me over the brink of impatience lately. I hear people fretting over the fact that their mother wouldn't buy them the newest Ipod nano, or the new designer purse that they have to have. Even people complaining that their parents wouldn't give them money to go out with friends bothers me. I guess, I myself have had to learn the value of a dollar pretty quickly. I wish people wouldn't complain until they had to support themselves at seventeen because their parents truly neglected them. I'm not saying that I don't have things going pretty smoothly, but I have to pay for everything. I am seventeed and am employed at Dairy Queen where I get $5.50 p/h plus tips. My wage and whether or not I can afford lunch is basically contingent upon how selfless people are feeling when I hand them my pathetically made ice cream cones. I am paying for a trip to canada, which is required by the school. I am paying for prom (minus Patrick's tux, which I was still willing to find a way to budget in). I am paying for money for food, which means every day I allow myself two dollars to scrounge up something to eat. If I don't do this, I don't have money left for other neccesities. I rarely go spend money on myself, but in a heart beat if someone else needs help I will help them to the best of my ability. So I wish I didn't have to walk through the halls with people carrying their coach purses and ipods that they aren't earning themselves complaining about how hard life is because mummy and daddy changed their allowance. By all means I have the utmost respect for the people I see who have these things, that have worked hard for them. I am glad I have had to struggle, because little things mean a lot more to me now. Like when Patrick's father buys me a Chicken Nugget Mighty Kids Meal from McDonalds- that's a relief for me. It makes me feel pathetic that, at knowing someone is willing to purchase me six proccesed chicken nuggets, a small coke, and small fry, that I feel a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders knowing that I actually had the opportunity to eat that day without having to worry about how I would pay to continue to survive if I, per say, buy a rather small bag of chips.
My parents are like me. Well my father, anyways. Granted, he is the only one around. They are the owner of the rat in a cage. Except, wherein Clementine does not have the ability so much to strive for herself I am struggling to make ends meet and surviving. I've almost got all my money for Canada, I've got some money for prom. I am surviving. This is a good feeling.
Patrick is in Boston. I should be with him. I could have gone, had it not been for the fact that I have to work. I wish I could run off and do things adventurous like that. He's a very lucky boy. I envy him, and I shouldn't but I do. I wish I didn't have to be tied down to creating a life for myself. I wish my father would hand me five dollars for the week for lunch money, so that I wouldn't have to take double-shifts at work to pay for things. And I don't mean arbitrary things that have little to no use in my everyday life, I mean a small bit of food.In the reality of it all, I've nothing to be comparing myself to. I am just like the people I detest. Except, it's only me that holds me back now.
It was sunny out today at least. After school I sat outside in the sun until my shoulders burnt. I ignored my fear of spiders and wasps long enough to suck in a deep breathe of spring air. I am living. Good to know.
whitepark

You came to me from no where with nothing and no one.

I do not fail at friendships. Frienships fail me. When I scoop your bleeding body off of a bathroom floor and help you lick your wounds, don't tell me I have a distorted perception of what a friendship is. I know the value of a friendship full well, considering the ammount of them that have managed to crumble before me since I've entered highschool. I want to teach people to be greatful for what they've got. You didn't have to be greatful for me though, that's not why I was there- I was there because I give people too many chances. Because I trust too easily, and because I try so hard not to disappoint and let down. I don't regret a single minute of being a friend to you. I am the martyr for those who scoop you up off the bathroom floor and help you lick your wounds here after.

Yours is a vicious cycle. You tear yourself apart, and let others pick you up again, and then abuse the person until once more you have not a single person that actually cares for you in your midst. You then commence in tearing yourself apart again because nobody is there to stop you. It's pathetic. You are pathetic. Your need to be wanted oozes off of you. Everytime you scream out "I love you!" to people that barely know you as a person I grimace for your complete lack of sincerity. I don't think I will ever understand.

If you had really wanted to kill yourself, you would have done so by now. It's not that hard. And I was never in your way. I came through your front door knowing full well that if you really wanted what you had set yourself out to accomplish, it could have been done by the time it took me to drive to your house. Fifteen minutes could have taken your feeble life away, and you fought it. I didn't force you to live, you forced yourself. My wanting you to live is not fair grounds to end a friendship on.

Yes, I am a hypocrite. I lie to myself upwards of ten times a day. On my feelings, on what's bothering me. I lie to protect myself. Yes, I have been on a bathroom floor too. And I'm glad. It's taught me to appreciate life more. I still think about it now and then, the escape that seems so easy. If I really wanted it, I could be gone in a second. Perhaps I have learned the value of many more things that you fail to realize.

I don't live and continue to to help people to annoy you, I do it because I care.

(no subject)

[Dated August 23, 2005]
It's as though I'm so weak. There needs be no background story, and no epitaph at the end. This is where it is set up, where the circumstances fall, remain, and continue. This is home, this is reality, and everything containd therein. I say I'm not deprived, and I believe it too. I change my world constantly for it to fit right- open and close doors, begin new things, and try and change my veiws.

This is a new place to put myself. Without fear. Without ambition. Without second thought.