Some of you were offended by my last blog post, thinking that I was too harsh and too brash. I am not apologetic because I cannot censor the way I feel. To those of you who approached me with quiet concern and love, I thank you. Your worry is appreciated. Yes, I will be making certain to get into some sort of therapy since I do have scars from what the moron formerly known as my brother put me through. However, I will not be doing so until fall because there's no point in going to one appointment here and then moving in August. I had planned to do that before I was grilled by other concerned parties who just managed to hurt me. And yes, I do not intend to be at home very often during the school year because it is an impossible place for me to be.
That is the way that things are. Currently I am hurt, angry, and upset. I will get over it, forgive where I need to, and get on with life. Until I do so, I would request that I not be pushed on the matter.
I have feelings too.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Fear
Have you ever been so afraid that you can't feel anymore? Your head screams at your heart that it should be pounding, but the only answer it gets is the faintest shaking in your hands. Instead of running to hide, you stand there dumbly as your mind attempts to process what is going on.
I spent six years living like that. Home was like that.
My parents, God bless them, made my childhood a bright and happy one. I remember all of the fun things we used to do, and how much time we spent laughing together. It was a golden age, one since tarnished by the darkness of the years. I can barely remember what it was to see my parents being carefree...
Six years ago, just about, Phillip Peter came into our home and made life frightening. I would go to sleep every night curled up around the knot of numbness, that sickening twist of fear, all the while wondering if I was going to wake up in the morning or if Phillip would just off me during the night. My days were cold, walking on a feet-slicing edge of a knife while I waited for the latest explosion. Every day it got worse, the scenes more violent. It felt like I was in some sort of sick, twisted movie where the only ending could be a homicide-suicide combination tabloid cover. Birthdays, holidays, every day could not pass without my mother and father being beaten on by a little whelp of a boy.
Best part? No one believed me when I said I didn't want to go home. They told me "Your parents are too cool! Why wouldn't you want to go home?" Because I didn't want to be near the screaming, the swearing, the hatred that was Phillip. This year, though, things finally got better. The state finally realized that Phillip was dangerous, violent, volatile and ready to kill. They took him into their custody, pulling him out of our house. That's all it is now... a house.
You see, even with him gone I can't seem to escape him. I've told my parents that I never want to hear his name again. I've told them that I am sick of the entire mess. I just want to get on with my life. But how can you let go of someone who has dug his claws into the very cavity of your heart and left poison there to rot it up? Mom, for one, just can't let him go. I told her specifically that I didn't want to hear her rants on Phillip, that I just wanted him to go away.
She doesn't listen.
Everything ties back to him, and her need to talk about how bad he makes her feel all the time. My possible internship with the Folger's Institute Library of Shakespeare? Just tied back to him. My eight page paper on Shakespeare and the shifting moral systems in Western culture? Tied back to him. The weather? Tied back to him.
Why can't it stop?!
I don't want to hurt her feelings, but if she mentions him and how he makes her feel one more time I am going to start to scream, to cry, to stop feeling at all. Why can't she get that?
And then she and Dad insisted that I see "The Soloist." Why did they do that to me? It involves someone who behaves like Phillip does--they should know, they saw it more than a week ago--and yet she demanded I see that instead of "17 Again." All the fear, all the numbness? It's back, knotting and twisting in my stomach just like it used to. My hands are shaking, my head is screaming.
And for what?
I spent six years living like that. Home was like that.
My parents, God bless them, made my childhood a bright and happy one. I remember all of the fun things we used to do, and how much time we spent laughing together. It was a golden age, one since tarnished by the darkness of the years. I can barely remember what it was to see my parents being carefree...
Six years ago, just about, Phillip Peter came into our home and made life frightening. I would go to sleep every night curled up around the knot of numbness, that sickening twist of fear, all the while wondering if I was going to wake up in the morning or if Phillip would just off me during the night. My days were cold, walking on a feet-slicing edge of a knife while I waited for the latest explosion. Every day it got worse, the scenes more violent. It felt like I was in some sort of sick, twisted movie where the only ending could be a homicide-suicide combination tabloid cover. Birthdays, holidays, every day could not pass without my mother and father being beaten on by a little whelp of a boy.
Best part? No one believed me when I said I didn't want to go home. They told me "Your parents are too cool! Why wouldn't you want to go home?" Because I didn't want to be near the screaming, the swearing, the hatred that was Phillip. This year, though, things finally got better. The state finally realized that Phillip was dangerous, violent, volatile and ready to kill. They took him into their custody, pulling him out of our house. That's all it is now... a house.
You see, even with him gone I can't seem to escape him. I've told my parents that I never want to hear his name again. I've told them that I am sick of the entire mess. I just want to get on with my life. But how can you let go of someone who has dug his claws into the very cavity of your heart and left poison there to rot it up? Mom, for one, just can't let him go. I told her specifically that I didn't want to hear her rants on Phillip, that I just wanted him to go away.
She doesn't listen.
Everything ties back to him, and her need to talk about how bad he makes her feel all the time. My possible internship with the Folger's Institute Library of Shakespeare? Just tied back to him. My eight page paper on Shakespeare and the shifting moral systems in Western culture? Tied back to him. The weather? Tied back to him.
Why can't it stop?!
I don't want to hurt her feelings, but if she mentions him and how he makes her feel one more time I am going to start to scream, to cry, to stop feeling at all. Why can't she get that?
And then she and Dad insisted that I see "The Soloist." Why did they do that to me? It involves someone who behaves like Phillip does--they should know, they saw it more than a week ago--and yet she demanded I see that instead of "17 Again." All the fear, all the numbness? It's back, knotting and twisting in my stomach just like it used to. My hands are shaking, my head is screaming.
And for what?
Saturday, April 18, 2009
All Rise For The Judge
I just figured that everyone would be impressed with what awesome thing I got to do today.
Yesterday I got an email from one of the professors saying that the high school drama competition needed judges, and I figured the $30 would be good. So, I sent the professor an email saying I could do it. Now, like any sane person, I thought that it was region drama. And then we got there. When I saw the sign that said "Welcome 3A State Drama Festival" I nearly died of shock. I was going to be judging state drama?!?!
Well, before I knew it I was judging kids that had been sophomores when I was a senior. First round was comedic monologues, second round was classical scenes, and third round was dramatic monologues. Oh my goodness, it was so much fun! The kids in my last round said I was the funniest judge they had had all day and that I pretty much rocked. :D I felt pretty cool just then. I remember being at State competition and admiring the judges, thinking of when I would be able to be wise enough to be one. Oh, it was just... Wow. I'm so excited. I'd do it again even if they did not pay me.
Hehe!
Yesterday I got an email from one of the professors saying that the high school drama competition needed judges, and I figured the $30 would be good. So, I sent the professor an email saying I could do it. Now, like any sane person, I thought that it was region drama. And then we got there. When I saw the sign that said "Welcome 3A State Drama Festival" I nearly died of shock. I was going to be judging state drama?!?!
Well, before I knew it I was judging kids that had been sophomores when I was a senior. First round was comedic monologues, second round was classical scenes, and third round was dramatic monologues. Oh my goodness, it was so much fun! The kids in my last round said I was the funniest judge they had had all day and that I pretty much rocked. :D I felt pretty cool just then. I remember being at State competition and admiring the judges, thinking of when I would be able to be wise enough to be one. Oh, it was just... Wow. I'm so excited. I'd do it again even if they did not pay me.
Hehe!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Epic Weekend Part 2
Sorry it has taken so long to get the rest of this up. Between classes, large papers, Spring Break, and conferences I seem to have been unable to really take the time to tell the rest of the story. But hey, here's the rest of it!
~~~~
Well, leaving at five o'clock was perhaps not the smartest idea, especially since there had been storms the day before. Alone on the freeway I was facing wind, ice, and the coming darkness. To keep myself calm, I ended up singing to myself the entire 52 miles of the drive, which (miraculously) worked rather well. Driving through the dark in a truck that old is not something I ever want to repeat, but I made it. My nerves almost didn't, but the rest of me was just fine.
That night Beth's parents were nice enough to serve me dinner, and (even though it was meatloaf) it disappeared from my plate faster than Smokee can twitch his tail.
Sleeping in a bed like that certainly was nice. I felt nice and comfortable, and slept like a log. The next day, Beth and I decided to have fun. We went to the strip mall, and our first stop was Sally's Beauty Supplies. I teased Beth that I should dye my hair purple, and it was amazing how fast we got out of there. She can't take a joke about my haircolor apparently (just because I like to do things to my hair when I get bored). We then walked over to Cold Stone's Creamery to get some ice cream. It happened that, while we were in there, Men At Work's "Land Down Under" came on. There's a common rule that exists in our apartment: Kirstin isn't allowed in public, stores especially, when hyper. I have a unique habit that tends to scare people, though I have never figured out why. When in stores, grocery stores especially, I tend to break out into song. Well, this time I had the music provided and could not resist the urge. Swinging my hips, I started to sing along. The shock came, though, when the guy behind the counter started to sing and dance along with me. Soon we had a sing-along going on, and even Beth got in on the fun.
The rest of the weekend passed with a good deal of laughter, sugar, and movie watching. Honestly, I can't remember everything we did, beyond watching "Howl's Moving Castle," but it was a great chance to bond with Beth. Fun, yeah?
~~~~
Well, leaving at five o'clock was perhaps not the smartest idea, especially since there had been storms the day before. Alone on the freeway I was facing wind, ice, and the coming darkness. To keep myself calm, I ended up singing to myself the entire 52 miles of the drive, which (miraculously) worked rather well. Driving through the dark in a truck that old is not something I ever want to repeat, but I made it. My nerves almost didn't, but the rest of me was just fine.
That night Beth's parents were nice enough to serve me dinner, and (even though it was meatloaf) it disappeared from my plate faster than Smokee can twitch his tail.
Sleeping in a bed like that certainly was nice. I felt nice and comfortable, and slept like a log. The next day, Beth and I decided to have fun. We went to the strip mall, and our first stop was Sally's Beauty Supplies. I teased Beth that I should dye my hair purple, and it was amazing how fast we got out of there. She can't take a joke about my haircolor apparently (just because I like to do things to my hair when I get bored). We then walked over to Cold Stone's Creamery to get some ice cream. It happened that, while we were in there, Men At Work's "Land Down Under" came on. There's a common rule that exists in our apartment: Kirstin isn't allowed in public, stores especially, when hyper. I have a unique habit that tends to scare people, though I have never figured out why. When in stores, grocery stores especially, I tend to break out into song. Well, this time I had the music provided and could not resist the urge. Swinging my hips, I started to sing along. The shock came, though, when the guy behind the counter started to sing and dance along with me. Soon we had a sing-along going on, and even Beth got in on the fun.
The rest of the weekend passed with a good deal of laughter, sugar, and movie watching. Honestly, I can't remember everything we did, beyond watching "Howl's Moving Castle," but it was a great chance to bond with Beth. Fun, yeah?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Beth and Kirstin's Epic Weekend Adventure of Awesome
Brace yourself, my friends, for a tale so epical and wondrous that it needed a title that long. For this is not just a tale of a weekend. No, it is far more. This is the story of darkened canyons, cliffs, and strawberry blonds.
Friday morning there was a magical time where I was planning on going home. I was going to bake my godfather brownies for Valentines Day and pretend that holiday wasn't going on--it just tends to depress me when I think about it too much. But I got a feeling, you know one of those feelings, that it wouldn't be safe for me to go home. So, with a sigh, I let my parents and my ride know I was going to be staying back for the long weekend. I was expecting an affair of dullness and loneliness.
I was wrong.
Beth called me and told me she had been called into work, which I had expected. But then she told me that her parents had invited me to stay down in St. George with them for the weekend. If I went, I would get to enjoy the benefits of a big screen tv, a queen sized bed, and many other glorious things that words could describe in more sentences than I am willing to dedicate. There was one little problem: I would have to drive myself. The thought of driving Gandalf the hour it would take aaaaaall the way to St. George terrified me. I was just getting to the point of passable with the truck on the backroads: going on the freeway would be suicide. Around five o'clock I decided to take Gandalf for a spin to see how good a job I was doing that day at driving him. Suffice it to say, before long I was headed south with my laptop and dufflebag as my only company on the drive.
~To Be Continued~
Friday morning there was a magical time where I was planning on going home. I was going to bake my godfather brownies for Valentines Day and pretend that holiday wasn't going on--it just tends to depress me when I think about it too much. But I got a feeling, you know one of those feelings, that it wouldn't be safe for me to go home. So, with a sigh, I let my parents and my ride know I was going to be staying back for the long weekend. I was expecting an affair of dullness and loneliness.
I was wrong.
Beth called me and told me she had been called into work, which I had expected. But then she told me that her parents had invited me to stay down in St. George with them for the weekend. If I went, I would get to enjoy the benefits of a big screen tv, a queen sized bed, and many other glorious things that words could describe in more sentences than I am willing to dedicate. There was one little problem: I would have to drive myself. The thought of driving Gandalf the hour it would take aaaaaall the way to St. George terrified me. I was just getting to the point of passable with the truck on the backroads: going on the freeway would be suicide. Around five o'clock I decided to take Gandalf for a spin to see how good a job I was doing that day at driving him. Suffice it to say, before long I was headed south with my laptop and dufflebag as my only company on the drive.
~To Be Continued~
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Gandalf the White, My Roomie, and Me
So I have had a very bad string of luck with cars. Seriously, it is getting ridiculous. Ever since Kermit (my first Bronco) died two years ago, I have not been able to get a car to like me. The Love Boat (a Crown Victoria) has done the best so far, but I sold that over the summer in hopes of getting a new Bronco. Well, I did get a new Bronco... and it broke. Then I got another Bronco... and it broke.
Throwing my hands into the air, I declared that I would have nothing more to do with cars. But then Dad convinced me I needed to drive something. Well, being a silly thing I agreed to learn to drive stick and borrow his white 1960s Ford truck. He drove it down this past weekend, gave me lessons, and wished me luck.
Well, I have managed to practice driving almost every day this week (except yesterday when we had company over). Beth refuses to ride with me anymore, but today Kinsey agreed to go with me. So, we went rampaging across the countryside in the truck, which we have lovingly dubbed "Gandalf the White." Things actually went really well, right up until the moment I stopped at a stop sign at the top of a small hill. I did everything right, but it wouldn't move. Well, somehow the truck got moving, and then I looked down. I had been in third instead of second. Yeah, that was smart of me.
Kinsey and I got feeling brave, though, and decided we were going to Walmart. For those who don't know the area, going to Walmart involves driving through at least one light and going to the other side of town. Well, we decided to brave it. Chugging along, we took the backroads towards it. Along the way we waved at Rori and Jamie and all of the other girls from JC3, and tried to look as natural as possible going through the city. We made it, I'll have you know that. We were laughing so hard, though, that an elderly lady informed us that we were simply having too much fun. Kinsey and I just laughed and told her that we had just survived a harrowing trek in a vehicle I am still figuring out how to drive.
And yes, we made it home safely, too. Figured you all would like to know I haven't managed to kill us yet.
Throwing my hands into the air, I declared that I would have nothing more to do with cars. But then Dad convinced me I needed to drive something. Well, being a silly thing I agreed to learn to drive stick and borrow his white 1960s Ford truck. He drove it down this past weekend, gave me lessons, and wished me luck.
Well, I have managed to practice driving almost every day this week (except yesterday when we had company over). Beth refuses to ride with me anymore, but today Kinsey agreed to go with me. So, we went rampaging across the countryside in the truck, which we have lovingly dubbed "Gandalf the White." Things actually went really well, right up until the moment I stopped at a stop sign at the top of a small hill. I did everything right, but it wouldn't move. Well, somehow the truck got moving, and then I looked down. I had been in third instead of second. Yeah, that was smart of me.
Kinsey and I got feeling brave, though, and decided we were going to Walmart. For those who don't know the area, going to Walmart involves driving through at least one light and going to the other side of town. Well, we decided to brave it. Chugging along, we took the backroads towards it. Along the way we waved at Rori and Jamie and all of the other girls from JC3, and tried to look as natural as possible going through the city. We made it, I'll have you know that. We were laughing so hard, though, that an elderly lady informed us that we were simply having too much fun. Kinsey and I just laughed and told her that we had just survived a harrowing trek in a vehicle I am still figuring out how to drive.
And yes, we made it home safely, too. Figured you all would like to know I haven't managed to kill us yet.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Just music
Some songs I feel... attached to this week.
"Angel of Mine" by Amanda Somerville
"First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Leona Lewis
"Breathe Me" by Sia
"Air and Simple Gifts" from the inauguration
"Angel of Mine" by Amanda Somerville
"First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Leona Lewis
"Breathe Me" by Sia
"Air and Simple Gifts" from the inauguration
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