Monday, December 30, 2002


Sometimes the option of disappearing doesn't seem that terrible. Broken family. Life stressed. Money streched. And my father leaving the day after tomorrow and nowhere to sleep comfortably in this apartment. What's in my head is "I hate everyone" even though I know it's just a cathartic mantra that really just perpetuates the phrase; anchoring it in completely without my knowing.

Still, at 17, I'm still very much afraid of footsteps and wrong mannerisms and words and filters filtering filters confused in front of family. Overload. The tears are in starting position. Whatever you did to me as a child, it's still very much with me even though you didn't intend it to. Even though you didn't intend for me to grow up.

Maybe later, things'll be better. I can't. Hardly, anymore.