||[24 Apr 2002|04:01pm]
Prom is Saturday. It will be fun. I have a great date and wonderful friends to go with. hair/makeup/dress is all going to be nice. I will be a girly girl for one night. I dont mind, it might be fun. but you know, if minds could be stylish or popular, my brain would be on the cover of Vogue!
I dont really care much about hair/makeup/clothes. I just like to be comfortable. One night won't kill me I don't think. Everyone at prom will make this huge deal about Polly Reddick dressing up and stuff. hah. that part is kind of funny. It is a drastic change, and I'm sure I will get attention for breaking my norm. Lots of people will see me in my dress, but one. I wish so much that my mother could see me. She used to love it so much when I would let her buy me a dress. She'd make me put it on as soon as I got home, and try her best to find somewhere special for us to go so she could see me in it. She picked out my prom dress.
My mom hated dresses too, but she said I looked so pretty in them. most wouldnt consider my mom pretty. To me she was the prettiest person in the world. Her face was so familiar, so perfect, so safe. When I could see my mom's face, I felt good inside, warm almost. I miss her face. I miss her eyes, her smile, her voice, her love. We were always in it together. We always counted on each other. She was my mother and my best friend. You only have one real mother. Whether it is biological or not, there is always one woman that you know is your mom. She was so much more than that though! She was a sister, she was a daughter, and she was a friend to so many people.
I'm not happy lately. I know I'm not expected to be happy after the death of my mom, but it's a different kind of unhappy. It's an emptiness, a greif, an anxious feeling I can't ignore. I don't feel right. I don't feel like me. I wonder if I will ever feel right again. I have to "move on" with my life. How the hell can someone "move on" When their feet are cemented in one place. It's so hard to look forward to things. I hate Thursdays. I dread Thursdays. Thursdays are goodbyes, last chances, and tears. 11 used to be my favorite number, irony at its best. 4/11/02
I got a numerology reading based on my birthdate. Irony strikes yet again.
(Your Soul Urge Number is 11.
If there is an excess of 11 energy in your makeup, you may possess some the negative 11 traits. There is a tendency for the 11 to produce considerable amounts of nervous tension which is bought on by a very high level of awareness. You may be too sensitive and overly emotional. In some cases, these sensitivities and emotions are quite repressed, and this tends to add even more to the sense of nervousness in the makeup.)
I am fine at school. I have to be. If I think I won't get anything done. I feel so out of touch with everything there. I feel like such a child. For so long I have depended on this person, and now they are gone, vanished in an instant. Dead and gone before I could learn to be independent. Sure, I am independent, I always have been, but this is a different kind of independent. This is forced and unwelcome. I want to curl up on her lap and complain about school. I want to ride in the car with her and make up stories. I want to laugh with her about a stupid joke. I want to see the look on her face when I come down the hall wearing my prom dress. I want to wipe away her tears of joy when I graduate. I want so much. I want too much.
I can't feel safe anymore. She was my protector. I can't feel full anymore, she was my everything, and my everything is gone. I feel so vulnerable to the world. So fragile now.
All of a sudden I am on my own. Circumstance smacked me in the face so hard I can't see. I have to take care of everything all of a sudden. I am still a fucking child!!! It's almost like I am raising a kid of my own. I have to teach it everything, play with it, feed it, take it places, be responsible for it. The kid is ME.
I am left alone with a house. A big, dark, scary house that doesn't even feel like mine anymore. It was safe and comfortable when mom was here, but now it is foreign and evil. Nothing can feel like home again. A cardboard box would have felt like home if my mom was in it with me.
I can't stand living only with dad. He is an alcoholic fuck-up who doesn't know the first thing about being a father. He is a stranger in my mother's house. I wish he would just drink himself to death. I'm tired of seeing him wander around the house crying. Mom hated him too! He drank away her love for him, and for mine. Mom and I were going to leave him, but she got cancer a week before we were going to a year and a half ago. She was stuck here, and now I am too. The shit he put me through, and the greif of my mother's death is breaking my will to try anymore.
If you don't want to read this shit, block my name or something. This is the only way I can express myself to myself. I hold things in for so long, and I'm trying to deal with it this time, even if it means horribly sad posts. I'm going to try. I have to try. The more I don't want to go on, the more I know I have to. The more time that goes by, the emptier I feel.