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karriezaiIf I wasn't sick right now, I would be so pissed. So much crap within 24 hours -_-; Argh.
First of all, Aze, I'm so sorry for getting ticked at you. I do know you're being concerned, I do know sleeping pills can be addictive, just... remember who I am, alright? I may have issues, but I am not and will never be a druggie, even on legal stuff. I don't fuck around when it comes to that. (And on a side note, Dad says all sleeping pills are is the stuff in Benadryl, which some people have to take every day for allergies. Granted there's more in Benadryl, but that's part of what's in there.) Anyway, I know I was bitchy and I'm sorry.
Dad had one of his mondo mood swings again last night. After the fight with Aze, that just... ugh. It was no fun. I hate that I cry when Dad bitches at me, but I do. It's out of frustration. Usually I don't cry that easily... mostly only Dad can bring that out of me except on special occasions. It's because I can't talk to him. Even if I know I'm right about something (which isn't often, but does happen occasionally), if he's in an irritable mood I don't dare contradict him. It's not that I'm afraid he would hurt me. I know he never would physically. But his temper is horrible. He can get mad over the stupidest things and devise these weird punishments... like when he got mad at Cris for saying school was boring and told him he'd have a bread and water diet for a week or so to see what boring really is and took everything interesting out of Cris' room -- TV, game systems, stereo, everything. Now, the punishment didn't last that long; it doesn't usually unless we've actually done something wrong, since Dad's temper cools off and at least he can admit when he's wrong when he isn't psycho-yelling-angry-man.
See, I'm not saying he's a bad guy. I wouldn't ask for another dad. My dad is great. I know he loves me, I know he'd never physically hurt me on purpose, and I know he only wants the best for me. But his temper. I hate his temper. What terrifies me worst is that the saying that girls end up marrying their fathers (figuratively, of course) will come true for me. I can't marry a guy I can't talk to honestly without him blowing up in my face.
And it frustrates me when I flinch and duck away when Dad wants to poke at my boobs and he asks, "Do you not trust me? You know I won't hurt you." He has this thing about societal taboos. He thinks it's stupid where there actually comes no harm. I am not saying he's an old pervert wanting to sex up his daughter -- I know he isn't. He just likes doing it because it bothers me, and he likes being annoying. Well, I trust him not to abuse me physically or sexually. And he's not going to do anything that would actually cause me physchological harm. But so what if the societal taboo that dads can't be too touchy-feely with their daughters is ridiculous? I don't want him touching my boobs, that should fucking be enough, shouldn't it?
So no, I don't trust him. I don't trust him to keep his temper in check. He won't start swinging at people, but he'll yell and throw shit around and... it's just scary. And I don't trust him to understand that no means no just because I don't like it, not because I'm afraid he'll hurt me or anything.
It worries me typing about this, because I'm afraid someone will think my dad's abusive or something. I've been through that shebang already. My mom worked with Children Services and they thought I was being abused, but I wasn't. At all. They put me in a class with a lot of kids who really had been abused, and I just thought it was cool, and fun making new friends. I didn't understand that the other kids genuinely had problems or that the teacher was a shrink because I didn't have problems. I was a perfectly normal kid. It's not until years later that I realize, hey, those kids were actually abused and I was just in the class, la-di-da, thinking it was the most fun thing in the world. It must have been... weird ...for my parents hearing me talk about how fun the class was. I remember being upset because the little genie lamp I got in the class got lost and I couldn't find it. I can't imagine what my parents felt like being reminded of all that shit again. No one would have worried about me, perfectly happy bouncy me, being abused if my mom hadn't been in Children Services anyway; they just don't want their members having nasty blotches on their records.
Everyone's parents have some issues. My dad's temper and his love of being annoying are his. And I just hate that I can't talk to him because there has to be a reason for everything -- why I don't want my boobs messed with, anything. I get flustered, he gets angry, and I can't think straight to explain myself when he's angry.
Anyway, yesterday it was a bag of stuff for fastening two shelves together. It got lost somehow, and god forbid something gets lost in our house. Dad goes nuts. If you don't get up and start helping him look for it, he'll get pissed that no one's helping him. And even if you do, if he can't find it, he gets pissed at the world for hiding his shit on him. I was on the laptop when I noticed him and mom looking around, so I got up and started to help (admittedly so I wouldn't get in trouble). We couldn't find it for ages. At all, actually, but we looked for ages. And he got angrier and angrier. He started throwing people's shit around and saying if everyone would put their stuff away things wouldn't get lost. Apparently he can keep his school books on the desk but I can't, because he carried them to me and said, "I'll be nice this time. Go put these away." I know what he meant by 'nice this time' -- he wouldn't throw them away. Which made me angry, because... well, a couple of reasons. First, all of the books downstairs were for classes I needed to do on the computer. That's why HIS shit is downstairs, because he works on it on the computer. And secondly, I wasn't the one who wanted to be home schooled. If I had the money, I would pay him back the money he spent on my courses for James Madison and get back into public schools.
He started throwing shit away. I may be getting my order of events slightly confused, but I'm pretty sure... I started crying for the stupidest reason in the world, but it was the last straw. Dad cleaned out the bathroom, all the reading magazines in there, and he took my Realms of Fantasy magazine out to the dumpster with everything else, but I hadn't finished reading it yet. I know that's a fucking retarded reason to cry, but it happened. So I avoided Dad as best I could so he wouldn't see me crying, because the weird thing is... when I'm crying and people ask me about it, I can't explain because when I try to talk about it I just get more choked up. It's better for me to talk about it later, or type it out. I've been known to type journal entries when I'm still pissed and I can't say anything aloud yet, and I'm never very proud afterward of what I say, so maybe it's a good thing I can't talk when I'm crying.
Well anyway, eventually the fuss calmed down. We decided that the bag of stuff was accidentally thrown away with the wrapping paper from Christmas presents. And I thought things were maybe getting better... but I was still quiet and red-faced even though I wasn't crying anymore. Dad started asking why I cried. I said, "I didn't mean to." So he asked Mom and Cris, but they didn't know either. Mom guessed. She said, "It's probably because she hates to see you upset." Partly true; mostly I hate that I can't say anything to him about it. I can't say, "Fucking calm down, it isn't the end of the world," or even anything less obscene than that. But then Dad was talking about how the house is like a packrat's den (it isn't) and if we would just throw away old stuff sometimes and put our stuff away when we're done with it, stuff wouldn't get lost. And Mom said, "They learn by example."
Somehow from this Dad got that Mom was saying it was all his fault that the bag of building stuff was lost. He got all pissed again and went upstairs, started throwing shit around. More trips to throw stuff away in the dumpster. I felt so bad because I felt like it was my fault he got angry again, since the whole conversation with Mom started with why I was crying. But Mom said, "No, I knew better. I shouldn't have said anything. I knew better." See what I mean about not being able to marry someone I can't talk to?
But he finally started to calm down. I remember at one point he was calm enough that when he started throwing floppy discs at me, I wasn't too scared to tell him, "Why are you throwing these at me? I don't have anywhere to put them. I don't have a computer." Yes, they were my floppy discs, but why the hell couldn't they be kept with all the other floppy discs, all the other stuff that only works with the computer? And Dad said, "Fine, next time I'll just throw them away." -headdesk- But I think that may have been before the second blow-up. I don't really remember.
Anyway. He calmed down enough not to be going through the house throwing random crap away, but he was still arguing with Mom about whether or not she said it was his fault. She didn't, and I know it. I heard the whole conversation. But I can't tell Dad that. So Cris and I were sitting there in the kitchen, and I was trying not to cry, but it was hard with Mom and Dad almost yelling at each other for this stupid ass reason.
I went to the bathroom and lowered the toilet lid, just sat on it and let myself cry a bit and calm down. I got the stuffiest nose in the world. I'm not sure if all that shit made me sick or if I was getting sick to begin with and all that just made it worse, because when I went to bed, I felt horrible. I had that raw feeling in my nose and the back of my throat from sinus draining. It hurt to breathe. By now Dad was feeling much better, and I've learned to just let go and pretend like nothing happened with him afterward, so we were just being normal. He was helping me find medicine. I took a sleeping pill (I know, Aze, I know) and put Vicks Vapor Rub under my nose to help.
I didn't sleep well. I woke up at 5 for no explicable reason. I should have been knocked out cold since I'd only taken the sleeping pill like 4 hours before, but... I dunno. I think I was laying on an arm wrong or something. Something ached, but I don't remember clearly what it was. I fell back asleep, though, and didn't wake up until Dad pulled down the felt curtain thing over my window at nine thirty or so... there's a street lamp directly outside my window, makes it hard as hell to get to sleep at night.
The only good thing was the dream. I dreamed about Ms. Chinok, Keith, and Tim. It wasn't a spectularly good dream, but... I love dreaming all the same. I've never had a nightmare. Dreams are just too fascinating for me to consider any of them nightmares. They're just 'adventures'. Anyway, Ms. Chinok didn't look like herself. For some reason she was a blonde white lady instead of being Korean. But it was supposed to be her. And at first Tim was just some guy... during the course of the dream he sort of became Tim. Keith was the only solid one throughout. He could even drive, which he couldn't when I knew him but he probably can now.
It was set in my Aunt Wendy's house for some reason even though she wasn't there. Ms. Chinok was 'baby-sitting' or something. I don't understand it at all. I just remember standing behind not-yet-Tim with my arms around him when Keith came in and watching Keith, almost as if I was seeing if he would notice that I had a boyfriend, I wasn't the awkward, shy, nervous kid he knew anymore. But then I realized the kid I was clinging to was Tim, and I didn't care anymore. I was just happy that I was holding Tim again. Keith was still there, he just didn't matter. I wonder if my brain is trying to tell me something?
Then I woke up, and I felt miserable. I had a headache and my nose was hurting again, that same raw feeling. My throat too. I didn't want to get up. I had no appetite when I tried to eat breakfast. I think I'm actually sick, because you know how they say healthy mucous (sp?) is clearish and unhealthy is green? Not to gross you out, but... yeah.
And then I had to call James Madison today because they sent me back a Psychology test saying I'd put the wrong student number on it, that mine wasn't registered with Ashworth College. I should have been suspicious of having a college course, but I figured it was because of the college prep diploma Dad signed me up to work for. I did pick one that was Psychology oriented because it seemed better than Accounting or something stupid like that. So I didn't think anything of getting a Psychology course from a college at the same address as James Madison.
Well, turns out I got the course as a mistake. I posted about not getting my Physics course; I saw that it said it had been shipped, but I never got it, so we called them about it and they reshipped it. Well. The course number for Physics is SC08. The course number for Psychology is S08. They sent it by accident.
I just finished Psychology. I did it for no fucking reason. I suppose I won't be getting credit for it or anything. Such a fucking waste. I could have been doing courses that actually counted, but no. I wouldn't mind if they would give me the extra credit for it, or at least I wouldn't mind so much. But I don't get the credit.
I hate being home schooled. And I hate fucking James Madison even more, okay? I haven't gotten anything but shit from them since I was enrolled. I want to be back in public schools.
I may sound emotional as I'm writing this, but the funny thing is that I'm not. I'm apathetic. I'm tired, I'm sick. My back hurts a little.
Plztokillmenow.
-sigh- I suppose that's all. Now I'm too awake to go to sleep but not awake enough to do anything useful.
Don't get me wrong, I love my life, I wouldn't want another. But... this is such shit.
First of all, Aze, I'm so sorry for getting ticked at you. I do know you're being concerned, I do know sleeping pills can be addictive, just... remember who I am, alright? I may have issues, but I am not and will never be a druggie, even on legal stuff. I don't fuck around when it comes to that. (And on a side note, Dad says all sleeping pills are is the stuff in Benadryl, which some people have to take every day for allergies. Granted there's more in Benadryl, but that's part of what's in there.) Anyway, I know I was bitchy and I'm sorry.
Dad had one of his mondo mood swings again last night. After the fight with Aze, that just... ugh. It was no fun. I hate that I cry when Dad bitches at me, but I do. It's out of frustration. Usually I don't cry that easily... mostly only Dad can bring that out of me except on special occasions. It's because I can't talk to him. Even if I know I'm right about something (which isn't often, but does happen occasionally), if he's in an irritable mood I don't dare contradict him. It's not that I'm afraid he would hurt me. I know he never would physically. But his temper is horrible. He can get mad over the stupidest things and devise these weird punishments... like when he got mad at Cris for saying school was boring and told him he'd have a bread and water diet for a week or so to see what boring really is and took everything interesting out of Cris' room -- TV, game systems, stereo, everything. Now, the punishment didn't last that long; it doesn't usually unless we've actually done something wrong, since Dad's temper cools off and at least he can admit when he's wrong when he isn't psycho-yelling-angry-man.
See, I'm not saying he's a bad guy. I wouldn't ask for another dad. My dad is great. I know he loves me, I know he'd never physically hurt me on purpose, and I know he only wants the best for me. But his temper. I hate his temper. What terrifies me worst is that the saying that girls end up marrying their fathers (figuratively, of course) will come true for me. I can't marry a guy I can't talk to honestly without him blowing up in my face.
And it frustrates me when I flinch and duck away when Dad wants to poke at my boobs and he asks, "Do you not trust me? You know I won't hurt you." He has this thing about societal taboos. He thinks it's stupid where there actually comes no harm. I am not saying he's an old pervert wanting to sex up his daughter -- I know he isn't. He just likes doing it because it bothers me, and he likes being annoying. Well, I trust him not to abuse me physically or sexually. And he's not going to do anything that would actually cause me physchological harm. But so what if the societal taboo that dads can't be too touchy-feely with their daughters is ridiculous? I don't want him touching my boobs, that should fucking be enough, shouldn't it?
So no, I don't trust him. I don't trust him to keep his temper in check. He won't start swinging at people, but he'll yell and throw shit around and... it's just scary. And I don't trust him to understand that no means no just because I don't like it, not because I'm afraid he'll hurt me or anything.
It worries me typing about this, because I'm afraid someone will think my dad's abusive or something. I've been through that shebang already. My mom worked with Children Services and they thought I was being abused, but I wasn't. At all. They put me in a class with a lot of kids who really had been abused, and I just thought it was cool, and fun making new friends. I didn't understand that the other kids genuinely had problems or that the teacher was a shrink because I didn't have problems. I was a perfectly normal kid. It's not until years later that I realize, hey, those kids were actually abused and I was just in the class, la-di-da, thinking it was the most fun thing in the world. It must have been... weird ...for my parents hearing me talk about how fun the class was. I remember being upset because the little genie lamp I got in the class got lost and I couldn't find it. I can't imagine what my parents felt like being reminded of all that shit again. No one would have worried about me, perfectly happy bouncy me, being abused if my mom hadn't been in Children Services anyway; they just don't want their members having nasty blotches on their records.
Everyone's parents have some issues. My dad's temper and his love of being annoying are his. And I just hate that I can't talk to him because there has to be a reason for everything -- why I don't want my boobs messed with, anything. I get flustered, he gets angry, and I can't think straight to explain myself when he's angry.
Anyway, yesterday it was a bag of stuff for fastening two shelves together. It got lost somehow, and god forbid something gets lost in our house. Dad goes nuts. If you don't get up and start helping him look for it, he'll get pissed that no one's helping him. And even if you do, if he can't find it, he gets pissed at the world for hiding his shit on him. I was on the laptop when I noticed him and mom looking around, so I got up and started to help (admittedly so I wouldn't get in trouble). We couldn't find it for ages. At all, actually, but we looked for ages. And he got angrier and angrier. He started throwing people's shit around and saying if everyone would put their stuff away things wouldn't get lost. Apparently he can keep his school books on the desk but I can't, because he carried them to me and said, "I'll be nice this time. Go put these away." I know what he meant by 'nice this time' -- he wouldn't throw them away. Which made me angry, because... well, a couple of reasons. First, all of the books downstairs were for classes I needed to do on the computer. That's why HIS shit is downstairs, because he works on it on the computer. And secondly, I wasn't the one who wanted to be home schooled. If I had the money, I would pay him back the money he spent on my courses for James Madison and get back into public schools.
He started throwing shit away. I may be getting my order of events slightly confused, but I'm pretty sure... I started crying for the stupidest reason in the world, but it was the last straw. Dad cleaned out the bathroom, all the reading magazines in there, and he took my Realms of Fantasy magazine out to the dumpster with everything else, but I hadn't finished reading it yet. I know that's a fucking retarded reason to cry, but it happened. So I avoided Dad as best I could so he wouldn't see me crying, because the weird thing is... when I'm crying and people ask me about it, I can't explain because when I try to talk about it I just get more choked up. It's better for me to talk about it later, or type it out. I've been known to type journal entries when I'm still pissed and I can't say anything aloud yet, and I'm never very proud afterward of what I say, so maybe it's a good thing I can't talk when I'm crying.
Well anyway, eventually the fuss calmed down. We decided that the bag of stuff was accidentally thrown away with the wrapping paper from Christmas presents. And I thought things were maybe getting better... but I was still quiet and red-faced even though I wasn't crying anymore. Dad started asking why I cried. I said, "I didn't mean to." So he asked Mom and Cris, but they didn't know either. Mom guessed. She said, "It's probably because she hates to see you upset." Partly true; mostly I hate that I can't say anything to him about it. I can't say, "Fucking calm down, it isn't the end of the world," or even anything less obscene than that. But then Dad was talking about how the house is like a packrat's den (it isn't) and if we would just throw away old stuff sometimes and put our stuff away when we're done with it, stuff wouldn't get lost. And Mom said, "They learn by example."
Somehow from this Dad got that Mom was saying it was all his fault that the bag of building stuff was lost. He got all pissed again and went upstairs, started throwing shit around. More trips to throw stuff away in the dumpster. I felt so bad because I felt like it was my fault he got angry again, since the whole conversation with Mom started with why I was crying. But Mom said, "No, I knew better. I shouldn't have said anything. I knew better." See what I mean about not being able to marry someone I can't talk to?
But he finally started to calm down. I remember at one point he was calm enough that when he started throwing floppy discs at me, I wasn't too scared to tell him, "Why are you throwing these at me? I don't have anywhere to put them. I don't have a computer." Yes, they were my floppy discs, but why the hell couldn't they be kept with all the other floppy discs, all the other stuff that only works with the computer? And Dad said, "Fine, next time I'll just throw them away." -headdesk- But I think that may have been before the second blow-up. I don't really remember.
Anyway. He calmed down enough not to be going through the house throwing random crap away, but he was still arguing with Mom about whether or not she said it was his fault. She didn't, and I know it. I heard the whole conversation. But I can't tell Dad that. So Cris and I were sitting there in the kitchen, and I was trying not to cry, but it was hard with Mom and Dad almost yelling at each other for this stupid ass reason.
I went to the bathroom and lowered the toilet lid, just sat on it and let myself cry a bit and calm down. I got the stuffiest nose in the world. I'm not sure if all that shit made me sick or if I was getting sick to begin with and all that just made it worse, because when I went to bed, I felt horrible. I had that raw feeling in my nose and the back of my throat from sinus draining. It hurt to breathe. By now Dad was feeling much better, and I've learned to just let go and pretend like nothing happened with him afterward, so we were just being normal. He was helping me find medicine. I took a sleeping pill (I know, Aze, I know) and put Vicks Vapor Rub under my nose to help.
I didn't sleep well. I woke up at 5 for no explicable reason. I should have been knocked out cold since I'd only taken the sleeping pill like 4 hours before, but... I dunno. I think I was laying on an arm wrong or something. Something ached, but I don't remember clearly what it was. I fell back asleep, though, and didn't wake up until Dad pulled down the felt curtain thing over my window at nine thirty or so... there's a street lamp directly outside my window, makes it hard as hell to get to sleep at night.
The only good thing was the dream. I dreamed about Ms. Chinok, Keith, and Tim. It wasn't a spectularly good dream, but... I love dreaming all the same. I've never had a nightmare. Dreams are just too fascinating for me to consider any of them nightmares. They're just 'adventures'. Anyway, Ms. Chinok didn't look like herself. For some reason she was a blonde white lady instead of being Korean. But it was supposed to be her. And at first Tim was just some guy... during the course of the dream he sort of became Tim. Keith was the only solid one throughout. He could even drive, which he couldn't when I knew him but he probably can now.
It was set in my Aunt Wendy's house for some reason even though she wasn't there. Ms. Chinok was 'baby-sitting' or something. I don't understand it at all. I just remember standing behind not-yet-Tim with my arms around him when Keith came in and watching Keith, almost as if I was seeing if he would notice that I had a boyfriend, I wasn't the awkward, shy, nervous kid he knew anymore. But then I realized the kid I was clinging to was Tim, and I didn't care anymore. I was just happy that I was holding Tim again. Keith was still there, he just didn't matter. I wonder if my brain is trying to tell me something?
Then I woke up, and I felt miserable. I had a headache and my nose was hurting again, that same raw feeling. My throat too. I didn't want to get up. I had no appetite when I tried to eat breakfast. I think I'm actually sick, because you know how they say healthy mucous (sp?) is clearish and unhealthy is green? Not to gross you out, but... yeah.
And then I had to call James Madison today because they sent me back a Psychology test saying I'd put the wrong student number on it, that mine wasn't registered with Ashworth College. I should have been suspicious of having a college course, but I figured it was because of the college prep diploma Dad signed me up to work for. I did pick one that was Psychology oriented because it seemed better than Accounting or something stupid like that. So I didn't think anything of getting a Psychology course from a college at the same address as James Madison.
Well, turns out I got the course as a mistake. I posted about not getting my Physics course; I saw that it said it had been shipped, but I never got it, so we called them about it and they reshipped it. Well. The course number for Physics is SC08. The course number for Psychology is S08. They sent it by accident.
I just finished Psychology. I did it for no fucking reason. I suppose I won't be getting credit for it or anything. Such a fucking waste. I could have been doing courses that actually counted, but no. I wouldn't mind if they would give me the extra credit for it, or at least I wouldn't mind so much. But I don't get the credit.
I hate being home schooled. And I hate fucking James Madison even more, okay? I haven't gotten anything but shit from them since I was enrolled. I want to be back in public schools.
I may sound emotional as I'm writing this, but the funny thing is that I'm not. I'm apathetic. I'm tired, I'm sick. My back hurts a little.
Plztokillmenow.
-sigh- I suppose that's all. Now I'm too awake to go to sleep but not awake enough to do anything useful.
Don't get me wrong, I love my life, I wouldn't want another. But... this is such shit.
