Seriously?

I had planed on continuing my previous blog this afternoon however, in light of last nights events I have decided to put that one on the back burner at least for the time being and write this one instead.

Due to the slump in the economy many people are finding themselves without jobs or at least with the very real possibility that they will not have work in the near future. My dad is one such person. While he still has a job at the moment there is a very good chance that the trucking company he works for now will not be able to keep him on in the near future. Knowing that he has decided to go back in to long hauling. He was hired on at a company my cousin has worked for in the past and had orientation the past two days in a town about a half hours drive from where I live. Knowing that he would be in the area for a few days he made plans to come up one night and spend some time with me. Not a bad thing really, I got a free meal out of it :). I also wound up in a conversation with my dad that just about left me speechless and did bring me close to tears (well, as close as I get anyway).

I've always been something of an out spoken person. As a child I was more likely to keep running my mouth than to shut up even when it got me in to trouble. I sometimes joke with people that even a dog learns if you kick it a couple times (not that I kick animals *shudders at the thought* it's just an expression) so what was wrong with me? Suffice it to say my mouth got me in to trouble more than once. My dads 'punishment' with all three of us children could be considered abusive (CPS would certainly have something to say about it -as a matter of fact my mom would tell me not to tell anyone or 'they' -CPS- would take me away and put me in a foster home where they would rape and beat me... she felt trapped, sure, but honestly, who says that to their kid?). And can my dad ever yell! I remember one time (physically he was just kind of pushing me around with his body and sometimes yanking me around by my coat -the navy issue pea coat my uncle gave me, no less-) one of the things he yelled in my face was 'Do you want to feel like a Marine?!'. All that said my tendency to not shut my mouth when it would be in my best interests earned me a lot more yelling and some more serious 'punishment' than my brother or sister. On more than one occasion my dad had me on the ground, straddling me, knocking me around (I suppose he was hitting me in the face but I honestly don't remember that much detail, much to the chagrin of a therapist I once had ;)) and yelling in my face.

I know it could have been worse. I also know that that fact aside it should not have been that way. I actually told him so once, the one time he apologised afterward (it -when the apology took place... the beating happened in the van on the way home from the Good Friday service- was Good Friday and I was playing solitaire on the computer while my mom got things ready to dye Easter eggs). I wasn't an entirely stupid kid ;)

Last night before my dad left to go back to his hotel we sat outside while he had a smoke before hitting the road. We talked about a few things (this and that we talked about so many different things that I cannot recall) and somehow ended up talking about me as a kid. And what came out of his mouth *shakes head* ... I really cannot believe it. I cannot even describe the conversation up the that point as well as I would like (at all, really). He told me that he saw I was a strong willed child and that while I could be stubborn he knew that I was also a kind child. He said he tried to parent in such a way as to reign me in and yet not break my spirit. He liked to think that he had been successful. (my dad does not talk like that though, I am just trying to get the idea across) Was he kidding me?! Maybe I became that way in spite of him but not because of him. I cannot even fully remember my response except that I did at one point remind him of the time he apologised and I told him that his behaviour had not been appropriate, was never appropriate. He responded by telling me that I could not be allowed to run off at the mouth. I told him that did not mean a beating was the appropriate way to fix that. He responded to that by telling me that I was never really beat. And you know what I said to that? 'I know'! What in the world was that?! Of course I was beat! Maybe not as badly as I could have been but for crying out loud! What in the world caused me to agree with him? Ugh. I am honestly disgusted with myself (though I have a good idea why I agreed and why I should not feel that way toward myself).

Not Quite ,&, God, It's His Fault So Why Am I The One Suffering?

*This post is in the beginig phase of writing. When I am done it may very well look vastly different than it does now. However for some reason I cannot explain I wanted to get what I have posted before I went to work. Please bare with me the poor writing style and all as I will be refining it as soon as I can*


I'm stuck. Caught in this state of Not Quite. Not Quite depressed. Not Quite Normal. Not Quite anything. Now in all honesty Not Quite is slightly preferable to the Pit. And Not Quite is, well, not quite *insert groan here* the same as that Dysthymic haze that more often than not enveloped me when I was not in the Pit. But Not Quite leaves me trapped in a place where I can still be haunted by ghosts of the past, plagued by problems I would rather not recall, relive, or experience again. Problems such as suicidal ideation (I love using that phrase :) Makes me feel smart, lol). I know that, having unlocked that particular door I have now become incapable of closing it. Death, for me, will always be an option, as much as I wish it were not. But that problem brings with it one particular Ghost, that man I blame for pushing me to that point. Because I truly believe that were it not for the actions of this one, sick, twisted (I'm trying to come up with a word that can describe just exactly how I feel about him but as yet I am at a loss) I would not have reached that point, the point where I realized that I could, in fact, take my own life. When it comes right down to it I even believe that, were it not for him, for what he did, that last major depressive episode would not have been nearly as bad as it was. I blame him for causing me to go so deeply down in to the Pit that I could not even function. And so it stands to reason that maybe he is at least partially responsible for where I am now, or more precisely, where I am not. That maybe he must take a portion the blame. I am not where I had hoped to be. I have lost my dream (I desperately wish I could grab hold of it once again). Not only have I lost that dream for the moment, should I find my way back to it I am not sure I would be able to accomplish it. I would love to go to graduate school. My GPA was such that I had decided that was one goal for my last year of university, to get it up so that I could go forward with that dream I held so dear (oh how I wish I could impress upon you how much I wanted this, how excited the thought of that future made me). I had already succeeded in getting it to a 3.0 (usually the minimum GPA graduate programs will accept) the spring before. This year I would take it up as high as I could. I would work hard at my classes, research with a professor, volunteer, do everything I could think of to give myself the best chance of getting in to the program I wanted. Instead I spent most of that year in bed sleeping or just staring vacantly at the wall or ceiling with literally no thought in my head (it's possible, really, I've experienced it). I skipped classes to sleep and often even when I was physically present in a class I was also only physically present. Try as I might I could not seem to pull myself together enough to pay attention to anything (and believe me, I tried hard).