Here we are again. At the end of my rope. Whoever came up with the holidays must have had a very cruel joke for me.
I'm not laughing.
You'd think that, after all I said and tried to do after that night where I made people cry about me, I'd be standing, head held high, saying, "Depression, you will go away soon! You're not needed in this home anymore!"
A dream a few nights ago brought me back into the prison.
Ever had a dream where you meet someone you knew from your past, but something keeps the two of you distant? And you really wanted to be with said person? Happened here. And it was a girl I had some strong feelings for.
Why is it that the female species keeps messing with my emotions? In almost every single entry, I've mentioned some girl, and they've all had something to do with my stability. Am I just cursed to be like that?
Gah, it makes me mad.
Then I start thinking about what the heck I would even say to her, should we meet again. How do you slide in the fact that you ran away one night, just because your emotional and mental capacity are no longer stable? Because you can't be in the same room as your family?
I think they would be better off if I moved out. They don't need this kind of drama. My father, yeah, he has serious anger issues, but this is the man that breaks his back to make sure that four other people are eating enough, clothed, and under a warm roof. You can't say he doesn't love me, even after that event.
Because I have them, too.
That's right. I'm just like my dad. Just as stubborn, just as hot-headed, and just as protective. I don't like it, but I've at least been able to control myself better than he has.
Ugly truth time. My dad nearly ran out on us because of it.
Remember when I said that he beat me because I didn't want to go to church? About five years ago, we ran into a deacon who promised him a way out of his hard life. We were a lot poorer then, too. We had to ask his sisters to lend us money for the rent.
I still feel really guilty about it. They have their own problems, and we had to shove ours onto them.
The deacon started off small; had him sell rosaries for a buck. Not even worth it. They weren't made well. Soon, the deacon started getting donations, a few more followers, I don't know what, and the next thing I know, dad's going to Jerusalem.
Without us. His family. He went off with the circle of extremists he called his friends.
Leaving me the man of the house for two weeks. No money, little food, a truck with half a tank of gas, and a hurt sister.
I wasn't surprised. I hated that guy the minute my dad met him, and something told me he wasn't a good person. The entire time, my dad started insisting that we go to church more often, buy CDs of the deacon singing (yep, sold those, too), and hear his midnight rants.
The guy didn't even talk about the Holy Message. He kept yelling that everything bad in this world had to do with Lucifer. You cut yourself? Lucifer. You killed someone? Lucifer. Why war existed in the first place? Lucifer.
And everyone just ate it up.
Then another trip. This time to Mexico. To meet my grandmother. Again, without my family. No money, same conditions, same tension rising. And another one to Jerusalem. Over, and over, and over again.
You know what made my dad stop? We end up finding out the deacon isn't even legit. He was just raking in the money from his scam for whatever. You'd think he got suspicious when a man of God tells his own "friend" to abort a young life in his wife's stomach, too.
This went off topic, didn't it? Oh well, I'm tired, and my folks are telling me to turn it. Might as well. Night.