Back from the Dead

Hey guys, it’s been a while. Things have been going a whole lot smoother, it’s been better since September, but I’ll make sure to catch everyone up. During the summer, I went over to my father’s house more often and I enjoyed the time I got to spend with him and my step-mom, I enjoyed feeling free and responible at the same time; it was so much like cutting. Then, a little bit afterwards, my mom got pregnate, it’s the first time this has happened in five years and I am just freakin’ excited and happy for her, but she’s taken it way too far out. She’s trying to be the people that say “The Earth is the center of the universe”, which didn’t turn out to be correct, and crazy enough, my aunt Shannah is pregnate again, the same guy who knocked her up almost three years ago and is still in jail and won’t go to see his kids or pay his child support. Yep, my life has gotten crazy, especially towards the end of August. My mother started to be sick and tired of my sister, of how she wanted to go over to our father’s house and live with him, so she came up with the idea of kicking her out of the house for three months and having her live with our father. And then I started acting up, I started to get upset with my mother because I couldn’t believe how she would just do that to my sister, make her leave just so she could see “the man that my father really is”. So, because I “defied” against her, I was going too. And, for my last magic trick for my mother, I  cut my anger out, I cried and tried to take out whatever it was inside me that made me so bad. I was hurt, because I was mommy’s little girl, and I would back her up, but my sister was always before her, and she hated that, so I did what she said that I was always doing to her, I began to rebel for the last three days. There were so many cuts (I promise they are now all healed.) and so much pain, and it was just the last night before I was supposed to leave that I had my courage. I used to have this box that contained ALL my cutting tools; glass, knifes, razors, even a suicide note of mine that I read. My mother always promised me that when I got better and didn’t cut we would throw it out, together. That was two years ago, and every time I would remind her about it, she told me that she kept it there for me to remember to never cut again; but she didn’t know that she was my reminder that I WANTED to cut. So, I finally threw away that box without her because I grew up enought to know that she wouldn’t grow up.

Now, for the past two months, I have been happier than ever! I feel so much better, so much more alive and like I have a purpose, all because I finally found what I had always wanted; a family. The family I dreamed of was how we would all spend time together, help eachother out, drive each other a little nuts sometimes, but we loved each other and would never raise our voices in anger, only in laughter. I feel more mature, so much more better. Last night, I started looking through picture albums that my step-mom has for an art project I had to do, and while I looked through them, I wanted to cry. There were pictures of my sister and I in our Barbie princess and Princess Jasmine Halloween costumes, pictures of us at the car show in Moab, at the Blue Angels events, how we were such a happy family. Then I went to the next three picture albums and I wasn’t there. There were no pictures of me, because I didn’t want to go to my father’s house, because I listened to my mother and how she told me for all those years what a terrible and horrible father he was, how he never wanted me, and I  believed her. I cried when I realized how much I missed  my life with my father and my step-mom, how I had hurt them, yet they waited for me to grow up and open my eyes. I love my family for that; for waiting for me.

I’m going to tell you all a secret, maybe multiple, but it always helps to talk to friends. I am scared, I am frightened about going back to my mother’s house on December 1st. I have become a person that I know my mother would hate, because it reminds her so much of my father, and she’ll expect me to go back to the person I was; the little Bug of hers, the cutter, the depressed and lost puppy dog that will always follow her around, but thing is I actually like this me, I actually and finally feel like me. And with this whole baby thing, I’m scared that she’ll try to guilt trip me, try to take control over me again. No matter how much I love Death, no matter how much cutting is my greatest and srongest high, I can’t go back to it, not anytime soon, because I am so close to something. My beautiful nightmares have caught up with me again, laughing and taunting me with my fears. What do I do now? That is my question to my dear friends. What do I do now?