Anger--
Today was Josh's memoriam at the Civic Center in Redding.
I couldn't go, I didn't have a ride.
My father's date tonight was much more
Important than celebrating someone's life.
I'm home now, drinking as I write this.
Listening to Slipknot, Korn, and System of a Down. Those are my all time favorite bands
I don't know when he'll be home, my father.
I'm angry with him, constantly thinking that his needs are more important than mine.
He doesn't realize that I'm still learning life, yet he decides to ignore it and be narcissistic. He doesn't realize that I could become something he doesn't want me to be.
Instead, my lesson tonight is to never rely on people who are even your blood.
They say blood is thicker than water, but I disagree.
I hate that man with a burning passion, not because he declares going on a date is more important than celebrating someone's life, but because he doesn't listen to my needs.
The other day, I fought with him over a practice driving test and let him yell at me so the fight wouldn't grow into something physical.
Three days later, I told him I never asked for help with the test because he was either on the phone with one of his hoes, or he's passed out on the couch by the time I come downstairs for my next cigarette.
His needs are more important than mine, is what I read from his actions.
I'm 17, is what he doesn't realize.
I'm not supposed to pay bills until I move out, but because I have a job now, he holds out his hand with every pay check I get.
He makes more than me. He's a mechanic. I work at a Kiosk for 10.50 an hour, three hours, three days a week. I get paid every two weeks. I leave my job with at the most, 230$. He works eight hours everyday, five days a week, for 30 an hour.
How can he not pay his rent?
I'm looking to move out when I'm 18, but only have 200 dollars saved because he needs help with bills.
Does it make sense to you?
I tell people I have more money saved for me, so they won't question unless I tell them.
I'm crying now, a bottle of Smirnoff to my lips.
He puts stress on me.
That man is not my father, nor a friend, he is a mere acquaintance.
I took down my posters last night, meaning I'm going to leave soon, but when my father asked why I took them down, I told him that I just felt like it - that my room seemed too cluttered.
I have my posters down now, and it helps because it makes me feel like this house his foreign, making it easier for me to leave one day. Soon, I hope.
He yelled at me the other day because he was tired of lugging me around, and I told him that was his fault.
My father didn't like that.
I saw a woman at work last night, a woman that he used to talk to, and we're friends now.
We both dislike him. Well, she does, but my disliking of him is much more strong.
She started telling me about my father, horrid things, things I already knew. I live with the man, and I am not happy.
He doesn't know my hatred towards him. I play it off nicely.
I'd be fine without him, of course I'd cry if he died, just like I did my mother because I have a heart. I'd remember the okay times when I was young (maybe).
My childhood was not okay.
But I'd be okay without him. He thinks I wouldn't, but I'd be fine. Just another lost soul in the world, but the earth still turns and lives go on.
He said, after my mother killed herself, that she had the right idea. He had never talked about suicide, but now he jokes about it at times. He often scares me by pulling a gun out of the gun safe after saying that he should kill himself.
He thinks it's funny, even when he knows I've tried to many times, and my mother has successfully done it to herself.
I never leave my room unless I'm getting more alcohol or smoking a cigarette.
Speaking of smoking, I want to start smoking weed again.
My anger and anxiety is eating me alive.
This is the first time I've drunken in a while, too afraid I'll say something idiotic and stab my father.
I won't do it, though. I'm not that cruel.
I had a daydream about pressing my thumbs into his throat and choking him to death. I cried when I snapped out, feeling like the quiet whispers in my head make me think these things.
I ignore them.
I joke about them at school, saying that I have voices and pretending it's a joke.
I'm not.
Nobody knows, but me.
I'm bitter inside, but I smile on the outside. I'm loud at school, because that's the only place I can express myself. At home, it's quiet and I'm stuck.
My teacher told me to be quiet today, and that honestly triggered me. Triggering is not a joke. Before, I thought it was until it happened to me for the first time a few years ago.
He told me to be quiet and said that I was distracting the class. Nobody cares or looks at me, they all have earbuds wedges in their ears with their music blasting.
I talk to two people, and joke with others when I'm taking a break from my work.
That teacher triggered me today.
Why?
People are constantly flip-floppy with me. They say, "Tala, why are you being so quiet? I miss the loud Tala. What's up with you lately? You're being weird." Or they say, "Tala, you're being too loud. Shut the fuck up. You're being fucking annoying. You need to calm down. I miss the quiet Tala."
What do you all want from me?
Do you want me loud so I won't stab someone in the eye with my pen, or do you want me quiet so I can just listen to the people around me and the voices in my head, making me want to snap everyone's neck?
I'm angry.
I feel like if someone were to push me a little bit further, I'd be in prison.
Sorry, not sorry.
