4/19/11

4/19/11

Guess what day it is?  Yep, Tuesday.  Gonna go to the library in a few and spend the day there.  My dad and Rory are going fishing so I asked to be dropped off on the way.  I brought tissues with me because I plan on writing everything out today.  I'm scared it won't work, Rita. Like, I've talked about everything and never cried.  Well, no, I mean I've cried over them but not "grieved" over them.  Maybe grieve isn't the proper word.  I just pushed it down and moved on.  So, I'm nervous that this won't work.  No, not nervous--freightened.  I guess we'll see.  So, I did bring tissues (in case I cry and because I"m sick).  So I'll be writing when I'm there.
Alright.  So, I found 9 books.  NINE.  I wanted more, but 9 was all I could carry (10, including this).  LOL.  So, where to begin?  Gosh.  I think beginning requires a fresh page, so I'm going to go to the potty and then start on the next page.  I love you, and I hope to be a stronger, different person after all this. I deserve it, I think and I have 3 hours to do this.  Today might be the start of something new.  One can only hope.
I didn't have this terrible life, you know?  I was clothed, I had a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in at night.  I was warm/cool when I needed to be, I had food, and my parents bought me nice things.  In fact, I was spoiled.  Very spoiled.  But let me start with my mom being pregnant with me.  She was a heavy nutrasweet fan.  She had it in everything.  One day though, a voice out of nowhere said to her, "stop.  no more.  don't you dare take anymore of that."  or something along those lines.  At some point, my parents learned that I may have been born with severe mental retardation.  Obviously, I wasn't.  I was; however, born with no thyroid gland, a heart murmur and learning disabilities.  (I'm also allergic to MANY things including any sugar substitute).  Still, I had a decent enough life.  My first scary memory was of my daddy being very sick.  He was a smoker, and I remember going outside and seeing him smoke.  I must have been two or three, because I don't know what brand he smoked or how it smelled.  I just have one vague memory of going outside and looking up at him.  He was leaning against a car talking to someone else.  I don't even know how they figured out he had lung cancer--what made him get checked out?
I remember one trip to Miami to see him while he was sick in the hospital.  The rest of the trips to Miami hospital were for me to check my eyes and thyroid levels.  (The guy who took my blood made Donald Duck impersonations.  And in my eye exam, I got to watch Lady and the Tramp while they examined my lazy eye).  I'm pretty sure I was 4 when my dad "recovered".  I have a picture where my dad is bald from chemo, very thin, and in a sling.  My shirt says "Hi!  I'm Chelsea and I'm 4 years old."  If I can find that pic, I'll show you.  The cancer spread to his arm, and so he had muscle removed.  Now, there's a steel rod in his arm.  Anyway, he wasn't expected to live.  However, he did.  He has so much depression though--I remember him telling me he wished he had died.  That's one of the hardest things I have ever had to hear.  I remember wondering why he possibly felt that way and now I remember maybe part of it was my fault he felt that way.  I've said some pretty hateful things to him.  (like, I wish he'd died) when I was angry.  I hate myself so much for saying things like that to my dad because it's not like, something you can take back.  Not ever, and so I wonder how much words can kill someone's heart.  I wonder how badly those words still hurt my dad... I'm so so sorry I said them and I'm glad he's still alive because even if he does aggravate me, he's my best friend.  Words are so much worse than physical contact.  Well, maybe not but they can be.  Take my brother for instance.  I don't think he was always abusive to me.  I mean he did normal stuff like calling me names and stuff. I remember one time, he pushed me down and got on top of me and spit in my face.  He had chicken pox so, of course, I got them.  I'm not sure when he started hating me.  I guess when we moved from Chateau Lane to Oak Hill.  I remember my mom telling me once that he used to ask to hold me and my mom was too scared to let him because I needed so much attention.  I wonder if that's part of why he hated me.
I don't think I noticed until he started standing on my shoulders in the pool, trying to drown me.  I still really find myself wondering how normal sibling rivalry turned into so much hatred.  He would just come in and say something so hurtful and that's what bothered me more than anything.  He'd be so hateful to me and if I tried to walk away, he'd follow.  I was always scared to be around him.  He was either going to be majorly hateful to me and I'd cry, or I'd fight back with a shut up, or something and he'd hit me.  It was all so upsetting because I'd tell my mom and she'd tell me I was being too sensitive or she'd tell me to quit antagonizing him.  I've come to the realization that I can easily--ok not easily--move on from the physical scars.  What hurt me so much were the words and the knowledge that for some reason, he really hated me that much.  He even had the whole school calling me chow chow Chelsea.  How can you do that to your own sister?  How often did I wonder "what did I do?"  All the time!  He eventually had me believing how stupid and ugly I was.  I mean, he had to be right.  I was 2 years older than everyone in my grade (because I started late and then I was held back).  I had to have a tutor, I was "cross eyed" (lazy eye actually but people always called me cross eyed) and my teeth were crooked and yellow, and I was just ugly.  I heard it from my brother and I heard it from all the kids in school, and no one ever told me how wrong they were--so I knew they were right.  I was ugly, and I was stupid and why on earth had God brought me into this world?
I was so angry.  Then, Rory started to get into drugs and the words got worse, and so did the physical abuse.  This time, I was getting pushed down stairs, cigarette burns on my skin, and just beaten.  I fought back when I was pushed to the limit, and always cried.  All my mom saw was that I fought back so to her, it was normal sibling rivalry.  She didn't see how scared I was all the time, how I hated being around him at home.
When he ran away, and things got even worse, everyday was spent talking about what we were going to do about Rory.  When he was in the back of the car, barely able to be revived because he was so drunk, I wanted to go and my mom was mad about it.  I just wanted to be included though and feel like a family even if the circumstances were bad... I hated being at home, I hated being at school--I just hated everything.  At school everyone hated me.  They made fun of me for whatever they could.  I would lie about stupid things to make people like me, and I would get caught and everything would be worse.  I came home crying everyday... until I went to public school.
Things with school got a little better as far as having friends.  But I still was very upset.  I had so many anger problems because my brother had hurt me so much, my mom didn't believe me and didn't care, and no one really liked me.  Then, on the brink of my 13th birthday, an employee of my dad's kissed me on the lips and told me not to tell.  I told my family at dinner on my birthday and I figured the man would be fired.  But nope.  *shakes head*.  I never understood why I wasn't protected more.  When I was in kindergarten, my class went on a trip to the Morikami museum.  I was laying down on something and some girl came and lay on top of me and started humping me.  I don't really remember it, but my mom told me it happened.  Apparently that's the one thing in my life  I blocked out.  Nothing else, isn't that so weird?  Back to where I was though... I was 14, barely 15, when I entered high school.  It was a whole new world, really but not as scary as I imagined.  I didn't do very well in school and got into bad things.  I went to a club with Traci Dax, Deborah Antanoccio, Will and Ashley Petit, and I think that's it. I was upset because no one wanted to dance with me, but then suddenly I was dancing with this spanish guy and he was kissing me.  Everywhere.  Then he had me up against a wall and people kept coming over to us -- people I knew -- and saying hi.  I was trying to get their attention for help -- get me away or something but no one was getting it.
I finally told the guy I needed water and made my escape then.  I got my friends to leave and by then I was acting crazy and saying weird things.  Then I crashed.  Will told me later that he thought maybe the guy had rubbed liquid acid on me because I'd been hallucinating.  At school, people would make comments about my "wall action" and after that I just fell apart.  I couldn't sleep anymore because I was having nightmares.  So by 10th grade, I was an emotional basketcase.  I was still being tortured at home by Rory.  There was fighting all the time and I was a royal bitch.  I was 15, almost 16, when I started having panic attacks.  I started skipping classes and taking speed (not for long though!  I only did that for like a week.)  Also, that's when my internet addiction started.  I'm not really sure how I finally decided to leave Atlantic, but a lot of it had to do with what happened the year before when I broke my hand.  (I was being threatened by this girl and then the school was getting threats so I was out for like 2 weeks because I was scared to go back and I punched a door and broke my hand).  Plus, we found out my Algebra teacher the year before fucked my GPA up so I went to homeschool...
I could have done really well in home school but all I did was play.  Then I met Ryan.  you know what's ironic about the entire situation with Ryan?  I wasn't even into him the night we met.  You know the whole story but I may tell it again.  No, you know what?  I'm not going to.  How will it benefit me?  The important things are, how I let myself become so infatuated with one guy, that it consumed me.  I was 17 when I met him and I think I just believed so much in fairytales at the time that I thought it was a "sign" that I met him at a wedding--a wedding I just wanted to attend so badly because I *knew* something special was going to happen.  And then I spent most of the time daydreaming about him instead of doing my school work... he really lead me on, too.
I remember the FIRST time he really hurt me was when he had a girlfriend and our kiss was just a kiss.  That was the beginning of my ups and downs with him.  I was furious when he told Deja that he'd date me if she made me look older.  I didn't want to be changed, I wanted to be loved the way I was.  I tried dating other guys but I could not get past Ryan.
I never understood why then, I just thought it was because I was in love with him.  Maybe I was, but now I think it's because he really lead me on.  You don't look at someone the way he looked at me, kiss someone the way he kissed me, or tell someone the things he told me, if you don't care about them.  Unless you are just playing them.  Now, I wonder if he just was in love with the idea of someone being in love with him.
I would never have come to that conclusion if you hadn't dated him too and told me some of the things you did.  --Er.. meant told me some of the things he said--both.  Whatever.  I don't know, all I ever wanted with him was closure.  It took him dating you for that... I'm stuck here so when I know where to go from here, I'll continue...