as i sit here with basic motor skills, wondering what the hell i am doing up at 9 in the morning especially wondering when my body is going to jerk me out of bed next to pee. i reminisce on this christmas past. GOD I HATE CHRISTMAS! AND BRIGHT CHEERY CHRISTIAN ASSHOLES TRYING TO MAKE ME REPENT. (come on doucebag, it's the holidays) anyways, i've pretty mch known for as long as i could remember, my late highschool-early adult life (I have a memory problem) I have never been able to deal with moy father or his multiple mental illnesses. trust me people, try going through your whole life of that and one year of Umass Boston and you'd be just as crazy. but seriouly, he's responsible for most of the mental crap i deal with day in day out. my chronic dirty mind and potty humour, my anger mannagement issues, my rage manngement issues (not one in the same!), my nicotine addiction from which i've relapsed regularly for the last year!, etc.
any who, these people are crazy, yeah...the indo-jamaicans that ake up my family are crazy
starting with the aunties, other than drugging me with rum-spiked watermelon slushies that are strangely addictive, they also have lost thier house due to reckless spending.
case in point christmas decor. hundreds of peices, purchased and stored in a basement to be dragged up every year and strung up on the rickety peice of shit ladder that rots alongside them. My aunties have the nerve to be angry at me when i shovel a foot-and-a-half of New England snow on top of them. (and i can thing only one place to put it!) this year, rather than a plastic cfc wreath, they put up a giant christmas bells that play music everytime you open the door.
which gets me to my first point, why don't these assholes get fucking tickets every time they put up these loud and downright offenssive displays of religion. as if they cant shove any more religion down our throats. goddamnit.
any ways, i went to bed at 5 am, after another night of paranoia induced porn watching (what, the internet is for porn, and paying bills:) ant lo and behold 8:30 am and i am up picking up a phone call. "put out the trash, and also check if the stove is on." in one sentence, he has me up by just playing on my paranoia. so i get up get dressed, and put the six trash bgs together. and head out, and as soon as i open the door i am hit with two off-time freakishly high pitched renditions of "deck the halls" simultaneously screeching in my ear. i strugle to turn the damn things off before waking up the rest of the neighbourhood. any who i get half the trash out into one of the two buckets. the other i leave on the porch before dragging it to the sidewalk. before walking back into the house to see my drunk uncle walking up to the street. i run back in and grab the two remaining bags and as soon as i return the barrels are gone and filled with his trash. fun!
god they are annoying!
now i sit here typing this and waiting for the next annoying call just as i doze off!
i'm not afraid to say it, oh fuck me!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
anger in the family
since i was very young, corporal punishment was the onlykind of punishment. i used to remember running and hiding from my mother because when she got home she would always be in a bad mood. the house might be a mess and the dishes were done and reused. and if i didnt have them clean by the time she got home i had hell to pay. it was not only the beatings that bothered me, it was the yelling. she would yell at us for every thing. then, the beatings came. my mother could beat me any time and anyplace for antything. she once beat me with the heels of her stilettos because i ate a yogurt that was reserved for snack time.
my mother was bad enough, but my father was worse. the abuse i've endured from him was unparalleled to mothers. my fathers anger took place only when i was rude. the beatings were brutally violent. if i ran away or threatened to call the police, he would go insane. his episodes exploded, they didnt escalate like mother's. my father once beat the living crap out of me because i asked him why he put my egg salad in the microwave. when i told my mother, she told me it was my fault. i had provolked him because i am the wicked one. i dont under stand why i am the wicked one.
in ninth grade, my mother ordered me to clean up my room, when i told her no, for good reason (it would have taken me hours to do), she beat me with a broom. it broke. i finally called the police. that day happened to be my aunt's birthday, so when the police came and got her, they made me sit at my aunts house. my aunt screamed at me, cursing me for being a wicked child. she and some of the other aunts went to bail her out. they got back and she went to her room. all this time i was sitting at the kitchen table. my aunt's nanny was sitting there with the children as this happened. i asked for a glass of juice and they gave me evil stares. so i left. not remembering to pick up my shoes, i grabbed my jacket and went back to my house. then my uncle came home and things really picked up. my aunt told him what happened and he flipped out. he came over to my house the moment he heard the news and he ordered me to go back to his house and take out my stuff. as i went to grab my shoes, he picked them up and threw them out into the garden and told me "i dont want you or your shit in my house." i picked up my stuff and went back to my house. i threw the shoes down and shut the door. by now i had streams of tears rolling down my face, i grabbed my jacket and curled into a ball on the couch and covered my face with my blanket. then, as if things couldnt get any worse, all my aunts and uncles arrived at the party. after being informed of what happened, they all came to my house and started to scream at me and yell auful things to me. by this time i had cried so much that i was dehydrated and i could not produce any tears. after about fifteen minutes of solid yelling, they all stormed out. leaving me there ont he couch in the fetal position. amidst a panic attack. my mother came in though the front door and she gave me an evil stare. from that moment on i knew that it was the beginning of the end. she hasn's spoken to me much since.
my mother was bad enough, but my father was worse. the abuse i've endured from him was unparalleled to mothers. my fathers anger took place only when i was rude. the beatings were brutally violent. if i ran away or threatened to call the police, he would go insane. his episodes exploded, they didnt escalate like mother's. my father once beat the living crap out of me because i asked him why he put my egg salad in the microwave. when i told my mother, she told me it was my fault. i had provolked him because i am the wicked one. i dont under stand why i am the wicked one.
in ninth grade, my mother ordered me to clean up my room, when i told her no, for good reason (it would have taken me hours to do), she beat me with a broom. it broke. i finally called the police. that day happened to be my aunt's birthday, so when the police came and got her, they made me sit at my aunts house. my aunt screamed at me, cursing me for being a wicked child. she and some of the other aunts went to bail her out. they got back and she went to her room. all this time i was sitting at the kitchen table. my aunt's nanny was sitting there with the children as this happened. i asked for a glass of juice and they gave me evil stares. so i left. not remembering to pick up my shoes, i grabbed my jacket and went back to my house. then my uncle came home and things really picked up. my aunt told him what happened and he flipped out. he came over to my house the moment he heard the news and he ordered me to go back to his house and take out my stuff. as i went to grab my shoes, he picked them up and threw them out into the garden and told me "i dont want you or your shit in my house." i picked up my stuff and went back to my house. i threw the shoes down and shut the door. by now i had streams of tears rolling down my face, i grabbed my jacket and curled into a ball on the couch and covered my face with my blanket. then, as if things couldnt get any worse, all my aunts and uncles arrived at the party. after being informed of what happened, they all came to my house and started to scream at me and yell auful things to me. by this time i had cried so much that i was dehydrated and i could not produce any tears. after about fifteen minutes of solid yelling, they all stormed out. leaving me there ont he couch in the fetal position. amidst a panic attack. my mother came in though the front door and she gave me an evil stare. from that moment on i knew that it was the beginning of the end. she hasn's spoken to me much since.
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