Random

I don’t know why Im writing this in here.. I don’t know why I keep having this memories flooding my mind. Theres a reason though.. I know that much.

Last night while I lay in my comfy safe bed, thinking about life and the mistakes I had made during the day, sins I had commited, how far from good I am. My mind took a spin, a memory.. you see Ive been trying to figure out what else I can do to fix my broken pieces,.. because realistically Joshua couldn’t restore every piece of me.

Anyways, I started thinking of things that had happened in my past,.. and when I started thinking of them, I wanted to write them down.. remember them. So when it came to it.. if it ever did I could expose them. So heres the first one.

This took place somewhere in the winter of 2000, a couple months after my Mom went into the hospital, my dad was never home at night, he was either with her,.. or at a bar. (he never use to go to the bars, and if he did it was like once a year.. now he was gone every night) I sat at home a lot, 13 yrs old learning what it meant to live, learning what it meant to actually feel alone,.. for so many years I had the companionship of my mother.. now that was gone. I had this cheesy diary, the cover consisted of five gorgeous guys called the backstreet boys J. (Sometimes I wish I could find that thing) There was one night where suicide was my option.. funny how for 13 years I never even knew what suicide was and as soon as your life gets flipped over and twisted up and your bottom falls out, you all of a sudden have an understanding of it. I had written in the diary about how one night I had take a bottle of asprin, hoping to never wake up. Well I woke up, obviously, .. you see I didn’t REALLY want to die, I just wanted all the pain to go away, and I desperately wanted my mother back home. I wanted my Father home too. One day about a week after this occurance, I came home to find my father rushing me into the car, asking me what I was thinking.. blah blah blah, he had read my diary, he rushed me to the ER. I was so angry at him for reading my things, I didn’t want to talk to him.. but now that I look back I figured it all out, I know what I was really thinking.. and I know how I look at my father,.. I don’t look at him with anger anymore.. more of pity. He didn’t know anything, he took me to the ER for pete sake. It had been a week, I was FINE. Not only that but I wanted his attention, any thing even if it was him thinking I could die because of some pills I had taken the week before.

I cried last night when I had this memory.. cried because I wish all the memories were more clearer,.. especially when it comes to my father.. I think that was one of the last times his care for me really spoke. Ever since then it was anger.. or he just pushed everything under the rug… I wish I could remember him being there.. not just a phone call every other week.. a phone call I MAKE. He never calls, and he always finds a way to try and make me understand that he just doesn’t like the phone.

I don’t really have much more to say