my mother worries about me. because i have no friends. no life, really. i told i preferred it this way and she just couldn't see how i could. i told her i wasn't lonely and that i had no real desire to be social.

i told her straight: i'm not going back to that house. this was when i was there over christmas and such. i told her tonight that i'm not going to live with her if he's there. i wonder how she feels about that. surely she understands. she was going to leave because of him. because he's a domineering fuckwit who just won't quit bitching about everything.

i should shut up about this, but i'm not going to.

so as her daughter, i've just realized, i'm supposed to be the primary person in her life, yeah? i don't know why i can never seem to grasp this. it just doesn't seem that way to me sometimes, because you must remember i suffered through like half of my life because of this person who she'd invited into our house. and i don't know where the fuck we'd be if he hadn't been there. i know he helped her get out of debt and all that shit, i fucking know that, but it doesn't mean i can't hate him for treating me like shit, right? and even if it does, fuck your notion of gratefulness and all that. i don't care. i am the way i am now because of that shit.

i fucking hate myself sometimes. i just can't get over it. it's not impeding my happiness, and it only comes up whenever i don't have anything else to think about. actually, mostly just when i write in my friggin' diaries. oi.

song: "i'm sick of you" - iggy and the stooges