Let me start this off by detailing what I scribbled out on may notebook an hour or two ago:
Mommy being home today really fucked with me. The fact that I spilled my coffee didn’t help either and the cherry on top was that I had Tiss’ Will in the line of fire and I couldn’t even get to a roll of paper towels. I’m at Tim’s now and calmer, but I am NOT looking forward to do any of what needs to be done when I get home. I can’t even really do anything while I’m here because I couldn’t figure out what I would need to bring, or hadn’t finished the prep on what I actually wanted to do. I just need more than 1 day a week with neither of them there. It’s been 6 days! 6, and I only got 1 before that. I need a space! I can’t keep doing this. I was about 2% from self harming today, but I couldn’t even do that right; nowhere to sit and do it, let alone something to use for the blood. I’m still shaking now but I’m off that edge. My handwriting has slipped a lot on this page eh?
I actually felt mostly good today, except that my morning routine was interrupted by my mother, pants less may I add, hovering in the kitchen when I wanted to make my first cup of coffee. She had to take today off for medical appointments, I get that, I think it just culminated to be the worst possible timing with the past weekend starting with a PA Day (she’s a teacher, so this meant she got home mid-afternoon; or in the middle of my workday), me working with my great-aunt on unnecessary updates to her Will that she’s decided are the most urgent thing in the world, and my brother off for 4 days in a row, and my mom having Monday off for a holiday. After 5 days of guarding what I do and say, not blasting music, or having to be tied to headphones when I needed to, not even having a quiet house when I do try and sleep at decent hour, I was on my last thread; so having my Mom home talking to herself at 2pm when I spilled the aforementioned cup of coffee on things I was not prepared to spill coffee on, and her insistence on talking about where to put a box of crackers when I was trying to minimize the damage to things was my last straw. I didn’t know what I needed, but with everything spread out having been whipped off my desk, half of which needed to dry I just knew I needed to get out and I needed to get out 15 minutes ago. So I did. And by the time I reached the end of the driveway, with headphones in and the world turned off I could begin to breathe again.
I guess the issue is I just don’t know when I’ll get a break in the next few months; March break is fast approaching, which means 11 days of my mom being in the house, then 4 day weekends for easter and the likely family gatherings that go along with it, the May 24 long weekend, which my extended family gathers for, and then a month of my mom on edge doing report cards, before being home again for 10 weeks. How am I supposed to establish a routine for myself when others get in the way. I’m not a morning person; hell I’m highly tempted to tell my mom not to talk to me before 6pm during March break. I’m also fairly certain I’ll be saying no to anything family related. Hell, I spend the better part of Christmas alone in my Aunt’s the basement; too many people were micromanaging who got food, wandering in and out of the kitchen, and right when I was about to actually get something to eat my cousin’s boyfriend walked in. Cue everyone jumping up and back into the kitchen to greet him & get him food. No one noticed that I disappeared for at least an hour. Well, not no one. My autistic cousin came down and was asking why someone was crying. He never even came into the room I was in, but it was a weird moment for me. I guess I never realized he was so in tune to his environment that he could pick up the change in my breathing like that (I wasn’t actively crying at this point). The year before his sister wound up on a psych hold after our families Christmas thing. I think it’s best I stay away for a while. I can’t pretend everything’s okay anymore, my parents can make up lame excuses because neither of them sees what’s really going on with their children. Hell, my mom jokes about the fact that I’ve cut, and neither of them noticed their 12 year old with self-inflicted bruises. Hell, I had camp counsellors more concerned about my emotional wellbeing; and they were really just trying to cover their asses with regards to potential bullying.
This is a cheery hello to a new blog eh?
Broken Brainwaves 