Going Through the Motions

I debated on whether or not to write something - get things off my chest and whatnot. Let it all out, so to speak. And I realize that the last two posts were almost a year apart. And now, this one added, it looks like it's becoming habit. One year. One post. Hopefully it doesn't stay that way. Maybe I'll make it a goal and write it down on a schedule. Which reminds me... I still need to make my schedules.

Where to start? Not much has changed. Okay, a lot has. But nothing that really helps me. Currently, I am basically unemployed, out of school, and without health insurance. And trust me, I NEED health insurance. With my luck I'll get sick and need proper medical attention. Plus the fact that I've been putting off a lot of medical tests. Yay me.

Stress hasn't lightened. In fact, it's probably gotten worse. It all started with a bunch of bull with UCI back in June. I had to take another class to meet graduation requirements. Then after that was done (class two days a week for 3 to 4 hours), I had to deal with my parents, mostly my dad, during camping. Once again, I didn't get to stay in the spots that I wanted. This makes it at least 3 years since they've come to a compromise with the camp sites.
After that, it was the stress of finishing up with the painting of my new room and the moving of most of my junk. New room being my new room at my grandparents old home, which I moved into with my middle sister and younger male cousin, and most of my junk being whatever my father DIDN'T restrict me from taking. He wouldn't let me take my bed or my bookcases. I still haven't been able to get my dresser!
Then came my grandfather's passing. My last grandparent. My father spent most of his day with my grandfather. He'd been in and out of the hospital since December of last year, and was only recently in an old folks home. But my dad and his sisters were pretty much always there for every meal. It's been over ten years since I lost my grandmother, his wife.

Of course, you'd think it'd be an emotional time for me. I found out Monday morning, at about 6 or so on August 24th, that he'd passed away at about 3am. This followed a night where we'd stayed up and played beer pong until 3 or 4. So while I was up having fun and drinking, my grandfather died. But I didn't cry. I knew I was supposed to. My sister cried for over four hours after hearing the news. But I couldn't. I don't know why. Still don't. And still haven't. At least not over his passing. I feel... felt... broken.

Now that he's gone, my father is at home all the time. Seems I got out of the house just in time. I couldn't stand being in his presence most of my day. He's relentless. He doesn't shut up. He thinks he knows everything, and everything he knows and says is right. He can never be wrong. He is in control. And I am just some stupid-ass child.

It's not something I tend to admit, but everyone who's close to me knows that I just don't do the whole "open" thing. I shut everything in. I am not big on showing emotion. But it gets to be really hard to hold in with all the emotion running wild. It upsets me to know that sadness isn't as bad a trigger as anger and frustration. Yes, I'm more likely to have a breakdown when I'm frustrated and angry. Why? Because if you're frustrating me, I can't do anything. I can sit there and listen, sure. But I can't get angry, stand up and throw chairs across the room or fall to my knees and punch the cement until my fists are just bleeding chunks of flesh.

I know I have a problem with stress. It's the whole reason I've adapted to the way I do things...I read a lot. I play games a lot. I listen to music really loudly, and have to constantly change activities so my mind doesn't have the time to rest and dwell. I meditate on a pretty regular basis, and I used to light candles or incense. It doesn't get rid of the stress, but it does lessen it somewhat. I still get nightmares frequently, and I still have times where I just have to punch a wall so I can focus on the pain instead of my emotions. But there's only so much I can do. My short term memory sucks, it's hard for me to keep a constant sleep schedule, and I get stress-related physical things, such as the skin on the pads of my fingertips peeling off when I'm extremely stressed out. Like now =.=

There's just so much to say I don't even know where to begin. Well, I know who to begin with. My father. I don't like to think about it, but he is the main source of my stress. Grades. Future. Car. Relatives. Responsibility. Jobs. Religion. He covers it all. He's hardcore Catholic, and he expects me to pray at my bedside every night and pray before I eat, and keep a rosary or prayer necklace on me or in my room at all times. Again, I'm not Catholic. I haven't been for over ten years. But he turns a blind eye to that. I'm sure he's seen the signs, but he refuses to believe.

The other day he threatened to make me move back home. Threatened ME, telling me he'd MAKE me move back home. Said I didn't have anything to bargain with about moving back home. First off, I'm 22. Twenty-fucking-two years old. I'm not even his responsibility anymore. I didn't ask to be. Second, I'm not a fucking child. He made me sit down at the table and write down things he wanted me to get done - ie. look at insurance, check on CBST dates and practice tests, and some other things. All I could think of was how pissed off I was and how I wasn't going to take that shit. But my mom asked me to sit down and do what he said, and Lauren just sat there, looking at me like she was pissed because I was causing trouble. And you know what? I don't give a fuck. I'm sorry I don't like the way he says or does things and will tell him to his face. Lauren can blow it off and obey his every whim, I don't care. But I can't put up with the bullshit he does. I can't. I won't.

I'm looking for jobs. At first, I just wanted to make money so I could afford to buy an occasional video game or two. But now getting jobs, plural, is very important. I need them. I need money. I need to do everything I can to get out from beneath his fucking thumb. I need money to pay for my own health insurance. To pay for utilities here at my new home. And to look into buying a new car - one that my parents didn't buy or give their approval for or anything like that. I don't want to owe them anything.

I love my mom, I do. But I hate my father. I might love him, because he's my father and he has done a lot for me. But I've never liked the man. I despise the way he does things, how he treats his immediate family, and how he treats me. And yes, I do blame him for my health problems. He's the reason my stress is so high that it's effecting me physically. He's the reason for why I act the way I do in certain situations. He's the reason I have such a low view of myself, and no matter how much I tell myself otherwise, I can't undo what he's done about how I see myself.
Back when I heard my mom and he had a fight that could've ended up in divorce, I was broken. I didn't know what to do. My sisters were crying and panicking. I was an hour away, stuck in Irvine, and it was late. I felt bad. But there are more times, now still, where I almost wish they were divorced. Yes, I've seen them together sometimes where I know they love each other and everyone 'aw's and finds them cute. But I know. More often than not, he's yelling at my mom because of some way she's handled a situation and he doesn't like it. Or he's forcing her to get on our cases cause he doesn't feel he does it enough. She bakes to relieve some of her stress. I've known that for a while now. But he'll come home some days and complain about her cooking and baking all the time. OR he'll complain that she's the reason he's overweight and the kids are unhealthy. She's the reason?! He says that she buys food they don't need or bakes when they don't need it. NEWS FLASH!! DON'T EAT IT! He blames her when he could stop himself from eating the foods. Bastard! Then he'll look at me and tell me I need to lose weight, which I already know, while he's fucking eating chips straight out of the bag! At least I'm active and make an effort to stop eating junk foods and lose some weight. What does he do? Complains to everyone, yells at someone or everyone for anything he can come up with, then takes a bag of chips and a beer and parks himself on the couch in front of the tv. And watches cops. Or some stupid-ass show. And my mother brings him food. He never gets up for himself. She serves him. And when I point it out to her, she said it's cause he works hard all day. Bullshit. I work hard on days too, but I get up and serve myself. And I don't go around telling people about how hard my day was, feed me, nurse me. I suck it up and go about my day.

Sitting here now, without him around me, I can think clearly. But everytime, without fail, if we're in the same room, we'll be in an argument. I won't even have to say anything, he'll find something to start up about. And he'll ask the same questions like three different times, like he doesn't trust the answer the first time I said it. Or he won't take my answer and tell me I did something the wrong way and how I should do it 'this' way, etc etc.

Sometimes I just want to bash his head in with some blunt object. Or my fists. That'd be more satisfying. I can't expect him to ever admit he's wrong about something, or apologize, or even just stay out of my life. So what else can I do? My mom seems hell bent on making me get along with him. Even after I told her I didn't want to speak with him or see him, she makes me go to church with them, then help him with moving things in the garage. And then help my aunt, his sister, put on car seat covers. Because she can't do anything by herself! Then, to make matters worse, he expects me to drive him there and back, so even after I finish putting the seat covers on in like 2 fucking minutes (oh so hard), I have to wait for him to do whatever he's gone over there to do.
I don't know what it is about him and my aunt that upsets me so much. He's too fucking controlling. A fucking controlling bastard. And she's fucking helpless. I love my aunt, but I wouldn't trust her to be able to save my life if it were in danger. I've had to go help put on her car seat covers, set up her dvd player, install a game on her computer, and teach her how to burn a cd. That last one took me nearly two hours because she had to write down EVERY SINGLE THING I SAID, from "move the cursor to file, click, go down to ..." all the way to "go to the bottom right corner of the window and click the button that says BURN". And you know what? My dad will do the same thing when I explain electronic things to him. Nothing can ever be simple with them.

Speaking of aunts, the she-demon who owns most the house I live in now drives me insane. Definitely in lesser amounts than my father, also because I have two others to bitch to and sympathize with me since we all deal with her, but she's still psycho. She's just as controlling as my father. Her comments are more like forceful suggestions. She doesn't take no for an answer either.
And get this. My father and her don't get along at ALL. In fact, they're always bitching about each other to family. So I get to hear both sides of the fence. But they are exactly alike. They hate each other, but they do the same things. They need to be in control. They need to complain and bitch and whine about other people, and yet they can defend and respect them all in the same breath. It's ridiculous.

*sigh* I don't know what else to say. I've just typed up what's come to mind. Well, that and I've had like 8 shots of vodka and whiskey by myself, so I'm just looking for someplace to vent. Vent done. For now. And for the future me, having 8 shots to try and kill the misery doesn't help at all. It just makes you want to go lie down in a ditch and die, but you're too tired to do that so you have to continue to sit in your chair and be miserable. Alone.

Until next time.