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Current Music: Damien Rice: Cannonball
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I know you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living.
So you, and you, and you, and you... you gotta give 'em hope.
17 April 2009 @ 02:21 pm
Friends Only.
Comment and let me know how you know me before you add me please!
If we're already friends, disregard this entry :)
02 April 2009 @ 06:32 pm
I'm updating via cellular! It worked on twitter and facebook so lets see if this will too.
22 April 2008 @ 10:19 pm
Current Music: David Cook - Innocent
22 December 2006 @ 10:50 pm
I wish someone could give me some idea why I would deserve to have a father that doesn't think I'm worth being a human. I can't even express how sick I am of fighting with someone that's supposed to be setting an example for me. Three years ago all I was looking for was a father. I had no expectations, I just wanted to know where the other half of me genetically came from. I wanted a name, face, and physical description. I wasn't expecting the donor of my other X chromosome to coerce my mother into leaving my stepfather. I guess this is what I get for wanting answers. I was never what he thought I would be; I'm not the social butterfly, I'm not exceptionally good looking and I'm more interested academically than I am extracurricular. His explanation is that I received his recessive traits, something none of us had control over.
I also can't help the fact that my parents were only fifteen and sixteen when I was born and that he decided he'd take thirteen years off of parenthood. You know, the boring years; the personality and life-altering ones. When I tell him that I may have ended up differently if he would have decided to stay around for a few of those years, I get the "It Isn't My Fault" speech. The one where he blames my mother, and my mother inversely yells that she never made him leave. The one I always walk out on, because I hear it time and time again. That seems to be the only answer he's ever had. That it wasn't, it isn't, and it never will be his fault. I should have socially bloomed the way he did.
Instead, I was in a constant state of wonder as to why I didn't have a father. I remember sitting in Spanish in 7th grade when we were figuring out what our Spanish surnames would be, realizing there was a blank space because I didn't know my father's last name. I'd go to friends houses and see my idea of perfect families; there wasn't a white picket fence with a beautiful house, there was just a mother AND a father. I'd see families on the television looking for their missing children, realizing I didn't have a father that would plea to the public for the safe return of "his little girl." It was a constant reminder that something was missing that I didn't have control over.
Thirteen years after I was born that father came back. I expected that things would finally be perfect, and they were, until my father started drinking. After that it meant nights of constant arguing. He'd yell at me about my imperfections, and I'd cry myself to sleep. Gradually I got used to this, and it was bearable, until he started dragging my mom into it. One night he threw something at her and I was so upset that I punched him. I'm almost positive that neither of us have forgiven each other for that night. I could take all of the physical abuse he could lay on me, but to see him hit the one person that's never left me wasn't something I was just going to let happen. That same night my mom told me she was pregnant, and that she was terrified. Terrified of telling my father, and terrified that he might leave again. I can't even count the number of times he threatened to do just that.
He hasn't played any sort of role in the development of my baby brother. Instead of letting him run around and play, he shoves him in the playpen so he can play video games online with his friends. I devote my Saturdays to babysitting so I don't have to hear him complain about how much the baby cries. I babysit during the week so my mom has time to rest. I'm constantly helping out around the house and I can't get an ounce of appreciation out of my father. Just the fact that he thinks I'm LAZY makes it even worse. I wish I had 7 hours a day to waste sitting in front of a television; I'd be under so much less stress. My life consists of homework and babysitting, and somehow I have to fit a few hours of sleep in so I can function.
I recently started understanding why almost all of my "heroes" or "role-models" are male. It's because I was missing one growing up. Now I've made attempts at filling that void. The fact that I was so willing to open myself up to Mr Godcharles for example, is because all I ever wanted was a male that would care about me. He's been the biggest father figure in my life and is probably the only reason I don't hate the entire male population. I honestly don't know where I would be without that influence.
All in all, I'm just sick of how I'm treated. I'm sick of always being my father's problem. I wish one day he'd be completely honest when he says he's going to leave me and my mother again. I don't think he ever will, because it would be too much trouble to move his most prized posession: his television.
Fuck. This.
I also can't help the fact that my parents were only fifteen and sixteen when I was born and that he decided he'd take thirteen years off of parenthood. You know, the boring years; the personality and life-altering ones. When I tell him that I may have ended up differently if he would have decided to stay around for a few of those years, I get the "It Isn't My Fault" speech. The one where he blames my mother, and my mother inversely yells that she never made him leave. The one I always walk out on, because I hear it time and time again. That seems to be the only answer he's ever had. That it wasn't, it isn't, and it never will be his fault. I should have socially bloomed the way he did.
Instead, I was in a constant state of wonder as to why I didn't have a father. I remember sitting in Spanish in 7th grade when we were figuring out what our Spanish surnames would be, realizing there was a blank space because I didn't know my father's last name. I'd go to friends houses and see my idea of perfect families; there wasn't a white picket fence with a beautiful house, there was just a mother AND a father. I'd see families on the television looking for their missing children, realizing I didn't have a father that would plea to the public for the safe return of "his little girl." It was a constant reminder that something was missing that I didn't have control over.
Thirteen years after I was born that father came back. I expected that things would finally be perfect, and they were, until my father started drinking. After that it meant nights of constant arguing. He'd yell at me about my imperfections, and I'd cry myself to sleep. Gradually I got used to this, and it was bearable, until he started dragging my mom into it. One night he threw something at her and I was so upset that I punched him. I'm almost positive that neither of us have forgiven each other for that night. I could take all of the physical abuse he could lay on me, but to see him hit the one person that's never left me wasn't something I was just going to let happen. That same night my mom told me she was pregnant, and that she was terrified. Terrified of telling my father, and terrified that he might leave again. I can't even count the number of times he threatened to do just that.
He hasn't played any sort of role in the development of my baby brother. Instead of letting him run around and play, he shoves him in the playpen so he can play video games online with his friends. I devote my Saturdays to babysitting so I don't have to hear him complain about how much the baby cries. I babysit during the week so my mom has time to rest. I'm constantly helping out around the house and I can't get an ounce of appreciation out of my father. Just the fact that he thinks I'm LAZY makes it even worse. I wish I had 7 hours a day to waste sitting in front of a television; I'd be under so much less stress. My life consists of homework and babysitting, and somehow I have to fit a few hours of sleep in so I can function.
I recently started understanding why almost all of my "heroes" or "role-models" are male. It's because I was missing one growing up. Now I've made attempts at filling that void. The fact that I was so willing to open myself up to Mr Godcharles for example, is because all I ever wanted was a male that would care about me. He's been the biggest father figure in my life and is probably the only reason I don't hate the entire male population. I honestly don't know where I would be without that influence.
All in all, I'm just sick of how I'm treated. I'm sick of always being my father's problem. I wish one day he'd be completely honest when he says he's going to leave me and my mother again. I don't think he ever will, because it would be too much trouble to move his most prized posession: his television.
Fuck. This.
Current Mood: 
nauseated
nauseated