Journal

i tried to be nice, i did. why is it that whenever i try to be nice to him, he's always a bastard right back to me? it's not okay. he went on kairos, and i tried to remind him of it. he doesn't know my story anymore, so how can he possibly be so mean to me?

i miss michael. i miss my mom. i miss my daddy.

i'm lonely today. i'm in a bad way. i just want to talk to my mom. 

better, today.

michael jokes that we act like we're married because we're never apart, and we do everything (literally) together. i think it's sweet.

if i wanted to be truthful with myself, i would acknowledge that i'm scared to be without him. he's kind of... like a grounding mechanism. sure, i have things that set me off around him, and my self-sabotage techniques, but  he's always able to bring me back to myself, to make me think about what i'm doing and what i'm saying. he makes everything real again.

i don't know what i would do without him.

i wanted to know for sure, if the things either parent had been saying were true. i guess i brought this upon myself.

i was looking at my dad's profile today. it's hard to look at. the pictures are probably the most painful. he's posted a picture of me, from when i was around six or so. it's incredibly sad, looking at it.

i miss my parents. not these people, but remember? the ones who took my brother and i  to science city. the ones who, when they argued about money, it was only because we didn't have any. my dad with his ponytail and my mom with her long, red braid. before my dad was secretive and always closing his door. before my mom had permanently red, swollen eyes.

when we were little, my brother and i could play anywhere we wanted. the only times we weren't welcome in our parents' room was when they were showering or changing. he and i, we would play for hours in our parents' room.

i'd give anything to be poor and happy again.

michael (boyfriend) is concerned about me staying the night at my house. he says he can tell, the minute i walk in the door, my mood changes. suddenly i don't want to be touched, i'm snapping at everything, i'm just incredibly sad. he's worried that if i stay in that house, i'll never get better. he asked if i would get back on the cymbalta. i told him i hate the way it makes me feel.

he told me i can stay at his house whenever i want.

i just wanna go home. i just wanna know where home is.