So I got thinking yesterday... and that made me look through old pictures and notes and stuff. This of course made me realize something about myself... which I guess is always good because how can you grow if you don't see the bad (and good) inside yourself? But then I needed to share it and all my friends are gone... so it feel about you to read this and I could feel I shared... though in all likely hood in normal standards I didn't really..... No one knows the truth about my life. No one. Not a single person. And I kinda like it that way. But... well it makes it harder for them to understand everything... Which is not what I really discovered. I mean I knew that already. It's just important because... I'm gunna tell the truth here. The bare minimum. But the truth. No hidden secrets. No dancing around what really needs to be said. So here it is. My life in a nutshell: First I will talk about the family... because they are after all the route of everything. My father is this amazing man. He's smart, funny, caring. He's good at his job and is really supportive. I love him... so long as he's sober. He is without a doubt an alcoholic. And when he drinks... he's awful. He is verbally abusive and sometimes even physically abusive. My bro, mom, and I are all pretty much scared of him when he's drinking. My mom... well she's just a bitch. There's really not much else to say. She forgets about me, is constantly late picking me up, and is just... bah. My bro and I use to get along pretty well. We had a blast as kids. But I've always been the independent type of person. I perfer to be alone, or if forced to be with others I like people that are very similar to me. Which my brother isn't. I mean he HATES to read... and I'm a writer... it was NOT a match made in heaven. So we fell apart, he became part of the "in crowd" which ew. He is shallow and cares about everything I despise. And he's an asshole as I'm sure you've realized from previous entries. He tackels me, punches me, kicks me... you know the works. So growing up I was the "little one" or often the forgotten one. My bro got pretty much everything he wanted and got to do everything he wanted. And I? I was just along for the ride. Our parents worked so we had "baby sitters" till pretty late in life. But they could really raise us, could they? So while my bro got the attention if fell upon me to raise myself. So i did and i think i did it pretty well. But along the way some where between going to bed each night crying and being told that i wasn't good enough by my family I had to make a decision for it not to effect me. And to do that I cut myself off from words. Other people's opinion didn't matter to me because in the long run they were just people who saw me... they didn't know me. Only i knew me. And it worked. It was great. I was safe from painful words and didn't have to cry myself to sleep. I wasn't the happiest person on the planet. I don't really like happy-go-lucky people. But i was joyous. When Peter died... i wasn't. I was hella depressed. And I had gotten so good at hiding that I don't think anybody noticed. But i was. I mean just look at the first few entries of this diary. My friends made it worse, as I've said a few times in earlier entries. But I thought I was okay... through it all. And that's what I realized. Looking back I saw in pictures when the smiles became forced, then disappreared. And reading old things I wrote.... I wasn't okay. I made it through simply because I knew that when I'm on my own I can make life better... but even though I didn't kill myself I wasn't okay. Not even close. And sometimes I'm still not. And I'm not sure I ever will be. I mean how can you ever recover from the scars of childhood? But I've stopped letting it rule my life. I don't wear my emotions, but I laugh more, I get mad more so I don't explode at the tiny things, and unfortunetly I do cry more... but I'm happy more. Not in that happy-go-lucky way but in the things aren't all that bad way. I still screw up relationships with guys because wow I've had such great role models. I still never want to get married. I never want to have children. I still won't let people hug or touch me. But I ask for help when I know I can't do something on my own. And I let people comfort me when I know before I wouldn't even have told them something was wrong. So I'm not okay. And maybe I never will be. But I'm getting there.