the truth between the words
April 19, 2008 � 4:24 a.m.

There�s something about being home alone.
No.
There�s something about being home alone when you�re not supposed to be home and not really in the mood to be alone. It makes you loopy. It makes you think too much. It brings back memories you tried really hard to forget.
Today was one of those days for me.

I had off from work for no real reason other than I didn�t feel like being fucking bothered at work. I need a mental health day once a month, which is doable since I have 23 days vacation and I never have anywhere to go or anyone to go anywhere with even if I did have somewhere to go. So I slept late today, got up and ate a BLT and lounged around watching HGTV. And after two hours, I was bored shitless. Every time I have off, I just sit home alone bored. I could have cleaned up, but I didn�t fucking feel like it. I ended up on the computer, and for whatever stupid reason, I came here to my old Diaryland diary. I had forgotten about it. Well, I had tried to forget it. I�ve been thinking about it a lot lately for some reason. For three hours I read through it, and when I was done�I was undone. It talked about my ex-fianc�, the baby, my mom, my old job, Swiz, and my hope for love. I laid on my couch and stared at the ceiling, letting the old emotions run amuck and analyzing my new life. Eventually, it wasn�t even emotional anymore. It just was what it was. And reality, though needed, is a real fucking cunt sometimes.

I don�t have a family. I have a mother that acts like I don�t exist unless it has something to do with my brother, a father that walked out on me and acts like I�m a bitch because I can�t get over that, and a brother that basically has a new family and I am just barely existing on the fringes of his life. I have two grandfathers that are dying and no one tells me anything. No updates. No calls. No nothing. I�m not in the loop at all. I find things out through my brother�s girlfriend. Not my family�my brother�s girlfriend. No one reacted to my book going global. My mom asked which book and my uncle said what book. Jason was happy for me. He was proud. And he explained hat he couldn�t really read the whole thing because some of the poems were too sexual and he couldn�t get past that. Though it disappointed me, him being the way he is about me, I understood. Amanda�s family had the biggest reaction, and though that was awesome, it was merely salt ground into the wound. People that I love are dying and I can�t even be included in that. I write a book that�s actually selling and no one remembers�no one is proud of me�they don�t even own a fucking copy. I�ve never done anything to deserve this disregard. It is what is. And I�ve finally accepted that I can no longer be emotionally involved with these people. I might still deal with them, but truly, I can no longer give a fuck about people that inherently don�t really give a fuck about me. No one calls. No one knows or cares about what�s going on with my life. I could be dead and they wouldn�t know. And knowing that, I have no other choice than to walk away.

And that�s not just them, that�s everyone that keeps me on the fringes of their lives. How hard is it to call or visit or text or whatever if you really care about someone? I feel so detached from things and it hurts. I hurt some days for no reason at all and it stunts me. I�m tired of that. Tired of wondering why and second-guessing myself. I�m trying to move into a positive direction. Be more assertive. Environmental. Elemental. I gotta start caring about me. That always made me feel like a bitch before, but I have to. I dint get the supervisor job because I couldn�t sell myself. Not because I couldn�t do it or wouldn�t be right for it, but because I couldn�t believe in myself enough to make others believe I could do it like they knew that I could. That�s fucking harsh. They knew I could do it, but because I didn�t, I lost. That�s the story of my life. That�s with everything. Work, relationships, friendships�they know what I am, but I don�t.

I have a lot of work to do.