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I want to write a little bit about myself, through all that's been fucked up lately.. I figured it might help me clear my head some. I'm not one to blame my problems on other people, but you can't help it when you haven't had the most fortunate life.
I remember when we lived in the brown house in Oregon, everything seemed fine.. for awhile. Then my dad's mother died. I remember my mother telling me and my sister to stay away from him because he was having a hard time with it. I was in pre-school at the time, you think I really understood what was going on? No, not at all. All I remember was after she died, we got a kitten because we thought it would help my dad through it to have a friend around since he's such a loner, and didn't want the company of his own family. That didn't really work, next thing you know, there was remotes flying through the air into closet doors, shit flying all over the place, and my mother getting screamed at. For what? I have no idea. I just know he kinda.. lost it.
Then we moved. We bought a blue house in the next town, and I started kindergarten. I had some friends when I lived there, we all used to ride our bikes down the hill and conquer tree houses. Just some good ol', harmless fun. We were normal kids! Can you believe it? It was great, though it didn't last. My father decided that my grandfather needed to get out of the house since his wife died, and flew him out to stay with us in Oregon from Georgia. That all seemed to go well, until my father also decided he wanted his schizophrenic half-brother to stay with us too. Wow. What a basket case. No one really knew how to handle him. Even that wasn't enough to break us, and at times it was quite entertaining. He was a very interesting guy.
Two years passed, and my father's dad also passed away. That was it, he had it from there. Between losing his mother, taking care of his schizophrenic half-brother, now he's lost his father!? What's next? ... Oh there's plenty more.
Well, we ended up moving to Georgia after my grandfather died because his house was already paid off, and we'd be able to live more "comfortably", and my dad couldn't possibly see someone living in that house other than someone else from the family. So, we moved in. I started private schooling in Georgia because the public schools were so horrible, and my parents feared I probably wouldn't fit in there. So, I was enrolled in yuppy catholic schools. Soon down the road my uncle was diagnosed with polycystic kidneys, and needed a donor kidney or else he'd die. So, my father donated him a kidney. That's a lot of stress, but I am so thankful that he did it because I would not have been able to spend time with my uncle again.
Moving along..
My parents began fighting, beating the crap out of each other for stupid financial reasons. Not a good enough reason, there never really is one.. but I guess I can kinda understand. When I lived in Georgia, I'd walk to my friends house down the street and stay with her weeks at a time to get away from my home life. When my parents would fight, I'd run out of the house and hide in the bushes down the street to make them think that I had run away. I'd hear them driving down the road yelling to me, "Erica! Erica! Where are you?", but I stayed hidden. I really didn't want to go back.
My mom kicked my dad out and he moved to Virginia where he could pursue a better business career. He lived in an apartment in Fairfax, the yuppiest area of Virginia. Figures. Years later, after I had been completely alienated from my dad by my mother, they decided to try again. My mother, me, and my sister moved to Virginia and my dad bought a house for us.
Me and my sister both moved to Massachusetts with my mom when she decided to leave, about a week after we moved to VA while my dad was on a business trip. I lived with my uncle Ross for about two months, I was enrolled in middle school in Dalton. I didn't like it at all. Infact, I hated it. My mother was off chasing her high school sweetheart, while I lived alone with Ross because my sister had already moved back down to Virginia with my dad. I started smoking cigarettes, and I remember I would wander the streets for hours listening to the same CDs in my portable CD player over and over again, but I wasn't really listening to them. They were just playing, and I was kind of.. just off inside my head. I didn't make any friends while I was here, just people who pretended to be my friends.
Anyways, I don't care to talk about my childhood anymore. It was nothing really thrilling. If you ask me, it probably wasn't really out of the ordinary, considering how fucked up adults are these days, and they wonder why their children act up. Hmm, couldn't be because you're horrible parents who don't show your children enough affection so they grow up feeling unloved, and unwanted by everyone? Nah. Couldn't be that. It's because your children are fucked up, yes. That's it, and you had nothing at all to do with it because fact of the matter is, YOU WEREN'T THERE TO MAKE A FUCKING DIFFERENCE ANYWAYS!!! And when you were there, I wish that you weren't, because then my head probably wouldn't have been toyed with as much as I allowed you to.
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