"Once or Twice Was Enough, But It Was All In Vain"

I haven't said anything on here recently because I never felt like I had anything worth writing about. My week was actually pretty normal, which doesn't happen to me very often. Or, you know, ever. Hindsight being extremely better, I could have said something happy and positive, talked about how I have such amazing friends who try their best to be there for me. Obviously, I did not do that. And now I'm wishing I had, because I'm in a mood where I can't focus on much of anything and I'm mad at so many people to varying degrees...

Sometimes, I forget that, while I have some drama of my own here at school, there is so much more going on at home that I don't know about. Like my dad ripping into my brother, again. And throwing all of my mom's stuff around, again. And blaming everything that has ever gone wrong on the two of them. Again. And again. And again.

When I was old enough to understand what divorce was, I wanted my mom to leave my dad so badly, and I couldn't understand why she didn't. My brother and I were/are scared of my dad, and he was always so angry. He didn't really ever abuse any of us physically, although he came really close more times than I can count, but he did a lot of emotional damage. He's the reason I started cutting in the first place. Not that I'm blaming him or anything...technically. My brother was texting me today, saying how dad hated him and didn't think he ever tried or cared or did anything right...how dad had torn apart the bedroom and tossed all of mom's things onto the floor while she was at work.

I don't know how  much more my baby brother can take. I keep telling him to tough it out for a few more months, until he finishes school and comes out here. I'm pretty sure the main reason he wants to be at the same school as me is because I've always been the one to take care of him, protect him...just like the reason I always hole myself up in my room and don't let people in very far is because that's what I've always done.

My room was safe. No one came in unless I let them. I let the wrong people (guys) in more than once, but that's not the point. Actually, it might be part of the point. I have always been trying to pick and choose who I trust so I don't get hurt, just like I always chose who came in my room. It was my own little world that I could control. Just like I could control the pain when I cut, or how I would use sex to try and control how I feel so I wasn't so empty. It never worked, but I kept trying because I wanted it to work so badly. I wanted to feel something. I wanted control.

But I'm still empty.

I feel more and more empty every day, especially lately. My least favorite holiday is coming up. I have no happy memories of Valentine's Day, but I don't have any bad ones either. I have no significant memories of the day is probably the best way to put it. Right now, all I know is that happy couples make me feel nauseous.

Even worse, they make me want to call up Michael. And apologize.

But I don't think I actually did anything wrong...did I?

                                                                                                                                       

Sometimes, I feel there is a hole inside me. An emptiness that, at times, seems to burn. I think if you held my heart up to your ear, you'd probably hear the ocean. ... Sometimes, I dream of being whole, of not going to sleep each night wanting; but still, other times, when the wind is this warm or the crickets sing...I dream of a love that even time has to lie down and be still for. I just want to be loved. I want to be seen. I don't know. Maybe I've already had my happiness. I don't want to believe it, but there is no man. Only that moon.           

                                                                  ~Sally Owens, "Practical Magic"