Continuation of last night's story and a brighter note

Last night was awful. Heinous. I don’t cry in front of my dad. This unwritten law has evolved over time. Last night, I broke that law. All I wanted to do was watch Strong Medicine in peace. My brother was watching downstairs and so I was in Dad’s room watching his TV. He came in and sat on the bed, blocking my view. I asked him to move and told him I did not want to talk. He persisted and I tried to go to my room. He blocked my way and told me to sit down because “we’re going to talk”. Yeah, right. That’s what he thinks. I kept trying to get up and go to my room saying, “I’m going to bed.” He grabbed my arm and basically tossed me to the bed. “Sit down and talk.” “No! I just want to go to bed!” He grabbed me and I curled my legs up and shoved his chest with my feet. He’s still trying to grab me so I scream, ear piercing, top of my lungs, “Get away from me!” I did that over and over until he let go. I sat on the bed with him trying to get me to talk and I cried. I was scared and I just wanted to be left alone. Finally he let me go into my room and said, “I’ll be back every ten minutes until you’re asleep.” Which will really help me fall asleep ::sarcasm:: While he was in talking to Joey, I went downstairs and got my purse (with my cell in it) and my Bible. I sent Mom a text that said, “Mom, I want to move in with you. I can’t take it anymore. Can’t talk right now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love ya.” I texted Lindz and told her to meet me in the corner (an area of our school) tomorrow when the buses unload. I was doing this in the bathroom. Dad goes, “What were you doing in there? Don’t give me any of this ‘tempted’ crap. Let me see your arms!” I thrust up my sleeves and shouted, “See! I didn’t do anything! I was texting my mother!” Even if I were going to hurt myself last night, I wouldn’t have done it on my arms. It’s too obvious a place. When I said this to Lindz, she glared at me until I pulled up my pant legs to reveal……… NOTHING!!! Not a scratch, not a red line, not a cut. Nothing! He tried to take my cell from me. I refused. It hasn’t left my possession since I got it. I refused to give it to him saying, “No. You didn’t pay for it. You can’t take it.” and I won that battle of will. Dad only came in twice. Once when I was lying in bed crying and shaking and once when I was laying in bed reading & finishing my tea. When I was crying, he goes, “Honey, are you okay?? Well, duh. ?I?m fine.? Note: the crack in my voice and the obvious teary voice. ?No you?re not.? He came over and put his hand on my back. Which immediately tensed up even more. ?I?m fine. Go away.? He left a few seconds later. I was shaking still so I prayed that I could calm down, just enough to sleep, just until morning. I did. I got my tea so my throat would stop hurting, wrote that entry, and grabbed GWTW as I climbed into bed. Two pages later, my father entered. I put my book down and he talked. When I got sick of his BS, I told him that I was going to bed. Put my glasses on the night table and turned off the light. Climbed back into bed (with him still on the side of my bed) and turned away from him. ?We were having a good conversation.? ?Wrong! Your ears you keep so that every shriek of every child?.? Opps. Wrong quote. ?Wrong. You were having a good conversation with yourself.? I went to sleep. He told me while I was in the bathroom (the second time) that I was reacting wrong. That it was the wrong reaction. Umm?. NO. You do not tell me that my feelings are wrong. My feelings and my reactions were perfect for that situation. I thought he was going to hit me; I was scared. Is crying and shaking not the natural reaction? It wasn?t even my choice. I could not stop. I?m lucky I managed to get my contacts out what with all the crying.

 

On another note, much as I respect all of your opinions, I?m having my English substitute give me some constructive criticism on my poetry. I?m kinda nervous about letting him read stuff like The Dying Temptation and He Lies to my Face but I?m going to get him a copy to critique. He?s not a poetry major or anything but he is an English teacher. I can?t wait to see what he says but he is the same teacher that I professed my hatred of in a past entry. Haha. Should be interesting. Oh, and semester is easy. Same as the first in all ways but a very few: different study hall room and teacher, different gym teacher, and three days of gym instead of two. Not a big deal. I had a conversation with Josh and Connor about nail polish. They?re two straight guys. It was quite hilarious. 10 minutes left to kill. Maybe I?ll start my English homework.

 

Love always,

Vickey