my peace is gone.

i knew they shouldn't have left me with the baby yesterday. i've been avoiding it, being alone with the kid for more than thirty minutes. any more than that, and i knew something would go horribly wrong. but his mother is so happy to be here and not where she's from that she's all about getting out of the house. "i don't want to have to carry him around on the subway and bus," she said. "and we're going out, can you watch him?"

i sat for a moment, tight-lipped and silent. she asked if i was okay. i said i was fine, i'd watch the child. inside, i was seething with rage. all the kid's done since he's gotten here is cry, cry, and cry. and all his mother's done is push him on other people. why the hell did she have him in the first place? still, i didn't object. i let them leave. i watched the spoiled brat.

as soon as they left, i blasted bjork. that put him to sleep. (hell if i know why, though.) about one hour before they came back, he suddenly woke up, crying. incessant crying. it was driving a nail into my skull. he sounded like a fucking seagull being anally raped. i did everything i could to shut him up. the typical things babies like. nothing worked. so i put him to sleep again and waited for everyone to come back. i wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing i had failed at taking care of a baby. i knew i failed, though, which is really all that matters.

i decided to make myself scarce and locked myself up in my room. until this morning, when i came downstairs to fill my water bottle. i spotted my mother on the couch. asked her why she was home. she said she wanted to take the mother and child out to enjoy themselves. i grunted, went to fill my water bottle and came back. asked her what my budget was, if i was getting a used car. she gave me a pretty filthy look and said two hundred dollars. "maybe if you'd gotten a job, then you could buy one yourself." like i wasn't trying. i hissed and spat, like any angry cat would. went back to my room. chain-smoked. stared into space.

i need that car, i need that car, i need that car. that's all i could think about. years of declining vacations (and in many cases, just being left behind) and i can't even a this fucking used car. i'm one hundred percent certain if i asked to go on some stupid cruise, her eyes would light up and she'd suddenly find money. whatever. i hardly ever ask for anything. i just want that car, so i can go on a road trip. alone. far away. and get the break i so desperately need from everything. i'm ten days from self-destructing. suddenly, she calls me downstairs to tell me something's wrong with the baby. he looks sick. she's taking him to the emergency room. i faded out a little after i heard that part, so i don't know what's really wrong with him.

so it must be my fault, because the kid was fine before they left him with me yesterday. nobody said this out loud, but i can feel it. it's either my fault because i fucked up while i was watching him, or it's the universe's way of saying i'm getting out of line by asking for things. although if it is the universe, i doubt they would take it out on a child. but who knows? the universe is fucked up too.

so, somehow, i fucked up. today is starting pretty badly.

and the worst of it is that i should care more. and i don't. i'm sorry the kid isn't feeling well, yeah. i'm not heartless. but i can't stop thinking about that fucking car. i need it. maybe it's because i don't think anything's really wrong with him, deep down. and if it is my fault, it's also his mother's fault for not taking care of her fucking baby. don't carry the thing around for nine months and then dump it on some emotionally retarded young adult the first chance you get. that's just bad parenting.

so there you have it. i'm a self-centered piece of shit, who cares about a used car more than a child. i won't be offended if you tear me a new one. i deserve it.



hidden cracks that don't show/ but that constantly just grow

i've never felt like i was really a part of this family, without my dad around. if there was an award for greatest dad in the world, he'd definitely lose. he kept me on a pretty short leash. but he was a good guy. even if i hated him for my lack of freedom, once i realized there was such a thing out there, he did really care about me. which is more than i can say about the other people in this family.

when i was three, i started feeling like i didn't quite fit into our family. half-brothers, half-sisters, and me. my mother's family, my father's family, and me. see, they're not my family. they're separate groups that were formed before i was born, and didn't have room for me. it was probably because i didn't feel like my mother and i got along. in spite of that, i tried to play the role of the good daughter. after all, i was the only child they both had together. but i still didn't completely feel like i fit in.

when i was six, i got a diary for my birthday. i wrote so many warped things in there. but the first really long entry in it was a complaint about how my mother had told me to carry a grocery bag full of oranges, while my older sister was told to just run up the stairs with bread. the elevator in our apartment building was off that day too. my arms were sore; oranges are really fucking heavy, you know. i told my diary my mother was playing favorites, that she didn't care what happened to me, and that it didn't matter if i complained or not because nothing would change. or so i thought. i told my dad what happened that night, and he listened quietly before telling me that my mother didn't care about me. he said her other children were her first priority (which was and still is true), and that i needed to be very careful about what i said and did to her.

not really the kind of thing you tell your child about your partner. i'm sure the only reason they never got divorced was me. i remember argument after argument as a child. the topics are irrelevant. but each time they began to get a little too serious, a little too loud, a little too angry, i would begin crying uncontrollably. once i even screamed. only once. we lived in an apartment, after all. i stopped doing that after i got the diary, but i started sleeping less and threw myself into my schoolwork. but i digress.

a few weeks ago, while cleaning the house, i began taking down my pictures and hiding them away. i didn't realize what i was doing until i was finished cleaning. it just didn't feel right, deep inside me. pictures of my mother, my half-sister and i side by side. well, technically, it was one picture of me, and my high school diploma. still, i found the other pictures of me and put them away. no one noticed. that just reinforces the thought in my mind, that i'm not really a part of this family. (one of these things is not like the other things.) what started off as a hairline fracture has turned into something worse. something irreparable. it's definitely not the kind of damage that can be fixed. as far as i'm concerned, i've been pushed away and i'll never come back.

so my only half-brother (from my mother) had his first child. and my mother's all like, "i'm a granny, hooray". and i'm all like, "couldn't give a shit." and she's like, "we're going to drive to a whole other state to bring them here and stay with us for a few days." and i'm like, "couldn't give a shit." and she's like, "don't you care about your nephew?" and i'm like, "i have five other half-siblings from my dad, four of which have been having kids since i was child. a new nephew means nothing to me. couldn't give a shit."

so they're leaving today. setting out to pick up my brother, his woman, and his spawn. i had a nightmare about the five of them (my brother, his woman, the baby, my mother, and my sister) sitting around laughing. it's one of few dreams i've ever had that i wasn't in. if i was in it, obviously no one cared that i was there, so it amounts to the same thing. i don't want to sound fucked up, but i don't care about this stupid ankle biter. this baby can go fuck itself for all i care. so can my half-brother, half-sister, and my mother. the woman, i don't know well enough to hate. but they can all take an express hand-basket to hell.

i don't want to share my space with a bunch of people i don't know, who don't know me. you should already know what i plan to do. after i finish this, i'll probably go brush my teeth, wash my face, drink a liter of water, and then put on a happy face. i'll pretend to be happy the entire time they're here. i'll hover on the edges of their consciousness, little more than a ghost. but still there enough to not be accused of insensitivity. i'll watch them interact. i'll watch them move the way people do when they care about each other, so the synthetic sympathy i receive on a regular basis is easier to recognize. and every time someone smiles, i'll feel more out of place.

the chances of this child and i ever spending time together after this are slim to none. just like all the other children my other siblings have had. so forgive me for not being overjoyed that it exists. that won't change anything for me. except my level of self-loathing, maybe. any conversations with me will be obligatory on their part. after all, i do still live here. but it's not like anybody cares, so... i'll play along. being mean is just a waste of time.

i can't wait for this to be over. i hope i can last.



i've seen it all.

i'm not always sure if people i meet are real. i'm used to elves slipping into my room at night and shuffling around. they're real, to me. i can see them. we talk, we argue. we joke about things. it doesn't even have to be night. i learned, when i was much younger, that there are somethings i can hear and see that other people can't. my dad thought it was cute when i was a child. looking out the backseat window, seeing a pale woman dressed in all white standing on the sidewalk. staring right at us. me, yelling, "a ghost! look!" and having the others laugh that it must be a ghost, because they couldn't see anyone. it wasn't cute anymore when i was older, hearing my name called countless times and finally responding, angrily. having my family tell me to shut up, no one was talking to me, i was losing my mind.

i generally know when people are real  but i can't always be sure. yes, i am utterly insane.

that being said, i met a real person last night. i thought she wasn't real for a while. my reasoning was that she was just too pretty. beautiful to a point of it literally being unbelievable. i was on the swings, and then she breezed down the street, into the park, and onto the swing next to me. and then we were swinging together. it was all very lovely. and then, even though led zepplin was blasting in my headphones, i heard her softly say, "excuse me." to me. with something dangling from her open hand. it was all pretty odd.

long story short, a total stranger--  a totally beautiful stranger-- gave me her necklace. seriously. right off her neck. her scent was still on it. (yes, her scent. i've got a keen sense of smell.) i told her it wasn't mine, because i thought she was trying to return something to me, but she said, no, it was a present for me. i think i was just so elated that this creature noticed me (in spite of my monstrously round thighs) that i accepted it as if it were completely normal. we talked for a bit. and then she left.

i kept playing with the necklace on my way back home, because maybe it was a total pumpkin carriage. maybe it was going to disappear as soon as i returned to reality. maybe deep down, i was lonely and my mind created this person to cheer me up. but it was still there, in my hand. i put it on, showed my sister. she saw it. so my only conclusion was that yes, during one of my mentally stable moments in life, something completely weird and unbelievable happened.

i don't know why she gave it to me, or if i'd see her again. but it's an odd thing to do, isn't it? to give someone your necklace for no apparent reason. especially one that says me, you, and love. i don't know what to think. i didn't get much sleep over this. i hate when little/big things throw my brain into a frenzy. i'm wearing it, obviously, because it's cute. i mean, i think i have an idea of why someone would do something like that. but it seems pretty unlikely, to me. i'm so confused.

i'm glad i at least know i'm not completely insane yet. my life makes no sense.