|
[06 Apr 2003|08:58pm] |
I'm not supposed to be here. My dad just wants me to be here. My problems aren't even that bad. He's paying an extra large amount of money to send me here because they wouldn't accept me any other way. As soon as my dad found out I had OCD he started searching for this sort of place that was farthest away from him. If he wasn't embarrassed of me then maybe he would provide me with the support I need from him. Oh well, I can keep dreaming.
Maybe I should start from the beginning so you all understand my fucked up dad. Scratch that no one will ever be able to understand him. He's a pathetic excuse for a father and the lousiest bastard I've ever met. My father is Walter VanCamp. He's been named the best lawyer in Sacramento and he charges thousands of dollars an hour. I grew up under the scrutiny of the local tabloid. Whatever I did or said was always front page material. But I'll get into that later. Before I started going crazy as my dad says, my dad, mom and I were happy. He always had time for us and we'd do everything together. Then when I was 9 my mom became extremely sick with leukemia. While she was on her death bed my dad started to have an affair with an evil bitch who's called Tiffany. The day after my mom passed away he ran off with her to Vegas and they came back married. I'll never forgive him for that, ever.
That's what triggered my problem or so the therapists say. I remember thinking about the most disgusting things ever. Those thoughts took over my everyday life. I decided to tell Tiffany about them one day when I was about 10. I told her how I could see my mother's mangled body stalking her around and how I couldn't wait to take a knife and slit open her throat so my mother could drink her blood. And I really had seen that image in my head and I can pretty much still see it today. She slapped me on the right side of my face. My immediate reaction was to slap myself just as hard on the left side of my face. She began to think I was crazy and was telling everyone she came in contact with what happened that day. A few days later Quinn VanCamp: Demon Child was the headline of the local tabloid.
Everything went downhill from there. That's when my dad started to get embarrassed of me. He wouldn't pay attention to me. I guess he thought that ignoring me would make me disappear. He would slip my allowance under my bedroom door in the middle of the night so he wouldn't have to face me. He didn't even want to give me an allowance but he knew that giving me whatever I wanted want keep me away from him for some time. That's how things were throughout middle school. Then I started highschool and things got worse I suppose. I started craving attention from my dad more than anything. I did whatever it took to get it too, even if it was negative attention. Drugs, sex, stealing, whatever. Of course all of that ended up on the front page of the tabloids and that's how my father found out. How pathetic is that? Having to read a tabloid to find out what's going on in your child's life. My dad got sick of it and said, and I quote "As far as I'm concerned, I no longer have a daughter named Quinn anymore. All I have is my wife Tiffany and our daughter Lilah." That statement killed me. Everything came crashing down around me. It felt like I was screaming but no one ever came to help. I stole Tiffany's Vicodin and tried to do myself in. I didn't succeed though. The housekeeper, Pilar found me passed out in my bed. I woke up in a hospital and was sent to the local rehab center. In there they put me on happy pills which I'm still on and they tested me for OCD because I constantly wash my hands, and repeat words over and over for no apparent reason. I tested positive for that shit and they put me on more pills for that. And I'm here for behavioral therapy for control my thoughts and my symmetry problem.
Most girls spend their sweet sixteen's dancing with their dad to some cheesy song, whatever it is. I spent it on a plane out here. No more big house or fancy cars. Just a small confined dorm room. I feel trapped again and this time, there's no escaping. I'm too fucked up for my dad to ever care about me again. But other than that, I'm a really happy person well, as long as I don't think about my dad. My only problem is OCD , which I'm still learning to cope with. I'm learning though.
aim;; scream quinn
|
|