I wrote a blog last night fueled mainly by rage and sadness but when I went to post it, the site was down. I'm not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it's a sign that I wasn't supposed to write it? Given the nature of the entry, it was rather ironic.

My problems don't seem to be all that bad. The thing is, when I was growing up, it was made clear to me mostly through the attitude of my family members that talking about your problems is a no-no. Things would happen, bad things, and I would never tell anyone outside maybe my Gram but that was okay, she's family.

Once, the nurse at school asked me if I needed to "talk to someone". I answered back "no" so fast that I immediately regretted it. It was a reflex but I really did need someone to talk to. I just knew that my parents wouldn't be happy, both for different reasons.

My Dad has been an alcoholic for a very long time, since his teens. He's what you might call a "functioning alcoholic". Basically, he goes to work, pretends he's a great Dad and husband who is saddled down with the worst wife and kids a person could find. Then he goes and gets drunk.

He's verbally abusive and has been physically abusive in the past (although I still wouldn't push him, he could still crack you one). He controls us with money and fear. Normally, a good Dad would pay for whatever his family needs, help them out, encourage them. My Dad uses money as a tool of manipulation – Do what I say or I abandon you and make your life hell. Because he knows I can't take care of myself now. I'm in debt, I could never afford to pay off those loans with a minimum wage job here, I could end up stuck in this house for up to 20 years paying off those loans and that's only assuming I'd get them paid off in that 20 year timespan.

He doesn't understand love, loyalty, romance, or passion. He doesn't enjoy much of anything at all. He doesn't read, has no hobbies (other than drinking), doesn't ever pop in a movie or anything, he just sort of lays around, watches whatever, and that's it.

We think he's bipolar but he is convinced that we're all nuts and he's the normal one. He gets mad that my brother and I don't talk to him but he's impossible to talk to. He either doesn't answer you or he gets mad and lectures you or, in my case, he runs down Mom and my brother and I gotta sit and listen to him talk about how awesome he is.

He also gets mad that my brother and I don't do any chores. I simply refuse for two reasons. One, my brother isn't made to do anything and last I checked, it was 2010, not 1910, I wasn't put here to serve lazy men. Two, once you start helping, he takes advantage of you. You go from doing your fair share of the work to doing everything. You have to keep him and his family members at a distance always. If you're nice, they're mean. If you're mean, they're nice. It's so fucked up and stressful because I don't like being a bitch but I have to be to survive.

Mom is nice most of the time but sometimes she can be a total bitch with me as well. If she's watching tv or on the phone, fuck the rest of the world. The entire house could be on fire and you'd have to just let her set.

Between last night and today, I'm just totally at a loss for what to do. Dad came home drunk and yelled at me and started a fight between my brother and I. I got so upset that I got in my car and left at midnight and didn't come home until 2:00am.

Then today, Mom has been a total bitch with me as well after I tried to help her and bought her a movie. I think I'm just going to clean up, start sorting through shit so I'll be packed and ready to go come August. The first chance I get, I'm fucking out of here.