As usual my entries are few and far between. It's now a new year and so far things are going alright for me. I'm back at home trying to get my finances straightened out. It was hard to come back here but I have no one to blame but myself. All I can do now is get my life back in order and start saving to move out again. This time I won't allow myself to screw up. So far, my move out date is tentatively set for May 1st but it really just depends on how my financial situation is. I'm going to be sharing an apartment with Ms. M so everything will be much cheaper than trying to survive on my own.
I'm so looking forward to living with Ms. M. She's become my dearest friend and I love her so much. I tell her often that I love her but I'm not sure she realizes just how much she does mean to me. All my life I've always wanted someone with whom I could share everything. Through all the good times and through the bad ones, someone who'd always be there to listen and understand just how I feel. Someone I can really trust and for them to feel the same way about me. I never thought I'd find that special person but I have - Ms. M. I don't know what I'd do without her, I really don't. She's helped me through some bad times and no matter how bad things get, I know there's always hope because she's there to help see me through. Even the good times are so much more better now that I have Ms. M to share them with.
Last night we watched the movie Beaches and I'd always cry because I never thought I'd find that special friend I'd always longed for, but last night was different. Sure I still cried but this time I wasn't sad. This time I cried because I was so happy. So incredibly happy to have Ms. M in my life. To finally find that special someone I thought for sure didn't exist.
The intense idolization of another person that comes with borderline personality disorder is clearly present in this post. My life at this point was completely dependent upon Ms. M. Other than my job, I don't think I did anything without her. If I had been a hair stylist like her, I probably would have even worked at the same place just so I could be with her all the time.
Even though we were best friends and I knew she loved me more than anyone else, I was always extremely jealous of other friendships she had. I guess I thought she should devote as much time to me as I was devoting to her. Obviously it was an unhealthy attachment for me from the get go, but back then I didn't see that at all.
In typical borderline fashion, the relationship eventually turned into an intense hatred of the woman. Everything she did got on my nerves and I blamed her for all of it. I don't remember if I wrote anything in my journal about the tumultuous times when our friendship took a nosedive because it happened during my pregnancy. If I find I didn't, I'll come back and post more commentary about her.
10/20/90
My entries are always so few and far between but it seems little changes. Once again, after a brief time of happiness, my life is screwed up. I really wish I could get everything to work out for the best and have things stay that way. I'll be 23 in three days and I still haven't a clue as to what I want to do with my life. Right now I'm unemployed and have been for three weeks. Quitting my job has been one of my biggest fuck-ups to date. I had two months to find a new job before my last day and I didn't even bother to look. I'm such a fucking idiot. I'm paying for it now though because I run a big chance of losing my apartment and my car, something that never should have happened. I really have to get my shit together and quick. I can't go on living like this. I'm not being fair to myself or anyone else in my life. I have to get my priorities straight and work like hell to become financially independent and stable. I'm going to try and make a list of all that I need to accomplish and all that I want to accomplish and then go down that list item by item until I've completed everything. I can't let anyone or anything get in my way but I know the only thing that's in my way is myself and my negative attitude. I have to change that. I can do what I want I just need to focus and think positively and that's going to start here and now. No more doubting my abilities. I CAN do what I want and I WILL do what I want! Remember Sid...PMA! You have it and if I ever doubt myself again I'll just keep repeating to myself...PMA, you can and you will! I feel it already!!
Want to know what I did during the two months between the time I gave notice at work until my last day there? What I did during the three weeks I was unemployed before I wrote this post? I partied and had lots of sex. That's all I did. Since I was a regular at a certain club, I always got in free and since I knew all the bartenders, I also got free drinks. When I'd hit the limit of free drinks I could get off the bartenders, I'd just turn my sights on the men (and sometimes women) in the bar and pick a victim.
I wasn't sleeping with any of them in exchange for the drinks. I had a boyfriend that I thought I was in love with at the time and he was the one I was having lots of sex with. Unfortunately he was as broke as I was, so he didn't care that I was flirting with other people to get them to buy me drinks, as long as I brought him a few of them.
I'd con drinks, bum cigarettes off people, dance the night away from 10 pm until 4 am when the place closed, go home with the boyfriend and have sex for a couple of hours, sleep, wake up and repeat. Every single night. That was my life.
I didn't even eat much back then because once I lost my job and the money stopped coming in, I had to conserve what little I had saved. I'd only eat one small meal a day, something incredibly cheap like ramen noodles or something. By the time I wrote this entry in my journal, I was only eating about twice a week. My boyfriend was working part time at a health food store and when he'd get paid, he'd use what little he had left over after paying his rent to buy salads and stuff from where he worked. Since everything was perishable, we had to eat it within a couple of days.
It never bothered me though, the hunger. I never really noticed it unless for some reason I was staying home alone, which wasn't very often. As long as I had alcohol, smokes and sex, I was satisfied. Nothing else mattered. In fact, I probably could have even gone without the alcohol and sex, cigarettes were the only real must have at the time. It was the first thing I asked my friends for when they came over, and the last thing I'd ask for before they left for the night.
I did end up losing my apartment, but worked out an arrangement to hold onto my car and just add about three months of missed payments to the end of my contract. Shortly after I moved back home, I found out the boyfriend was cheating on me and dumped his ass. It wasn't the first time he'd done it, but I gave him a second chance after the first time. Stupid move on my part, because he ended up cheating again with the same chick.
In the last half of the entry, there is yet another example of me trying to convince myself that having a positive mental attitude could have a major impact on life, as I was so often told it would. Back during this time, I seriously believed that it could. Think positive and positive things will happen. Smile and the world will smile with you. Unfortunately, I didn't realize (and no one ever told me) that no amount of PMA is going to make things right if you keep making rash decisions without ever putting any thought into them. When you keep doing that, you're going to keep fucking things up and, as you'll soon read, I make one of the biggest fuck-ups of my entire life.
Want to know what I did during the two months between the time I gave notice at work until my last day there? What I did during the three weeks I was unemployed before I wrote this post? I partied and had lots of sex. That's all I did. Since I was a regular at a certain club, I always got in free and since I knew all the bartenders, I also got free drinks. When I'd hit the limit of free drinks I could get off the bartenders, I'd just turn my sights on the men (and sometimes women) in the bar and pick a victim.
I wasn't sleeping with any of them in exchange for the drinks. I had a boyfriend that I thought I was in love with at the time and he was the one I was having lots of sex with. Unfortunately he was as broke as I was, so he didn't care that I was flirting with other people to get them to buy me drinks, as long as I brought him a few of them.
I'd con drinks, bum cigarettes off people, dance the night away from 10 pm until 4 am when the place closed, go home with the boyfriend and have sex for a couple of hours, sleep, wake up and repeat. Every single night. That was my life.
I didn't even eat much back then because once I lost my job and the money stopped coming in, I had to conserve what little I had saved. I'd only eat one small meal a day, something incredibly cheap like ramen noodles or something. By the time I wrote this entry in my journal, I was only eating about twice a week. My boyfriend was working part time at a health food store and when he'd get paid, he'd use what little he had left over after paying his rent to buy salads and stuff from where he worked. Since everything was perishable, we had to eat it within a couple of days.
It never bothered me though, the hunger. I never really noticed it unless for some reason I was staying home alone, which wasn't very often. As long as I had alcohol, smokes and sex, I was satisfied. Nothing else mattered. In fact, I probably could have even gone without the alcohol and sex, cigarettes were the only real must have at the time. It was the first thing I asked my friends for when they came over, and the last thing I'd ask for before they left for the night.
I did end up losing my apartment, but worked out an arrangement to hold onto my car and just add about three months of missed payments to the end of my contract. Shortly after I moved back home, I found out the boyfriend was cheating on me and dumped his ass. It wasn't the first time he'd done it, but I gave him a second chance after the first time. Stupid move on my part, because he ended up cheating again with the same chick.
In the last half of the entry, there is yet another example of me trying to convince myself that having a positive mental attitude could have a major impact on life, as I was so often told it would. Back during this time, I seriously believed that it could. Think positive and positive things will happen. Smile and the world will smile with you. Unfortunately, I didn't realize (and no one ever told me) that no amount of PMA is going to make things right if you keep making rash decisions without ever putting any thought into them. When you keep doing that, you're going to keep fucking things up and, as you'll soon read, I make one of the biggest fuck-ups of my entire life.
12/29/89
It's getting so hard to hold on. Another year has gone by and still I see no hope for the future. Why have I kidded myself until now? It's been 11 years since I first considered suicide. Why haven't I just done it? Is my fear of death that strong? It's so final. But that's what I want. To finally be over this inner suffering. To finally be rid of the pain and scars that have built up so much they've destroyed all hope. I no longer cry just from the pain but now from the realization that suicide is inevitable for me.
Reading this post again was very difficult for me. Nearly 20 years later and I still harbor these same thoughts, how pathetic is that? It generates a lot of anger to think that I haven't grown emotionally after all this time.
Reading this post again was very difficult for me. Nearly 20 years later and I still harbor these same thoughts, how pathetic is that? It generates a lot of anger to think that I haven't grown emotionally after all this time.
9/2/89
I'm not sure what it is that is making me write but I just feel I have to. I have something to say but I'm not sure what it is. It's been close to a year now since I last wrote and while there have been many times since when I felt I should write, I've never felt so drawn to do so. It just all seems so strange to me. It feels as if though I'm in a constant state of anticipation. Like something important is going to happen yet I don't have a clue as to what it is or when it will happen. It's a bit scary as I don't know if it'll be good or bad but still I'm eager to find out what it is. This isn't the first time this has happened. I felt this way a few weeks ago. It seems as if though I'm losing touch of who I am and what I want but I never had an answer to either one in the first place. I've become confused and I've felt so trapped.
Maybe that's what all this is about. Maybe this is a signal that it's time for me to leave. Time for me to find answers to my questions or risk losing touch with everything. How I would love to just pack up my belongings and just travel the world in search of my calling, in search of my identity. I think not knowing who I am is what keeps me so messed up all the time. It's not the only thing but it does contribute to the problem. I know who I'd like to be but what you'd like to be and what you are often turn out to be two very different things.
I leave for New York in a week though I'm not sure why anymore. I'm really not looking forward to it any more because I'm afraid it'll just be a disaster. I'm not so sure Miss P. even wants me to visit. I feel like I'm just being pessimistic like usual but I think it's more of just common sense. Nothing ever works out for me so why should I expect this to? And after talking to Miss P. she didn't leave me with any sort of positive impression. Seems as if my visiting is just too much of a bother. Unfortunately I'm stuck with these plane tickets. I guess if things don't work out with Miss P. I can always just spend my time wandering around alone. It certainly won't be anything new. Maybe I should've just gone to Europe alone. Either way I'll be alone only at least if I'd have gone to Europe I'd have been prepared for it.
This is one of the earlier posts that mentions my lack of identity. Had I started journaling sooner, I bet I would have made mention of not knowing who I am quite often. Ever since I was a little girl, as far back as kindergarten, I can remember feeling odd, feeling like an outcast. Everyone else always seemed to have dreams for the future, everyone except me.
I often think that I should have taken the opportunity to travel during this point in my life. I had nothing tying me down, nothing to keep me from leaving Chicago and perhaps, had I hit the road, I would have found myself.
I did go to New York and it was not at all what I'd hoped it to be. Instead of staying at Miss P's house, we stayed at other people's houses. Places where I didn't really feel comfortable. We didn't do much except hang out, smoke and talk. One night we went to a concert and we did a little shopping during the day, but I had to cut the trip short because she didn't take the entire week off work. Unfortunately she didn't tell me that until after I was already there. I felt like I was in the way the whole time I was there, like a pesky little sister that's constantly following her older sister and her friends around.
All the signs were there before I even left that the trip wasn't going to be enjoyable, and I should have listened to them. Should have changed my ticket and gone some place else, any place else. I probably would have had a better time, even if I was all alone.
Not sure if I wrote in any of my journals about it (we'll find out when I get that far), but several years later Miss P came to Chicago to visit me and some other people she knew. She stayed with me for several days and we had a blast. I'm not sure if that's because she was more outgoing than I was, or because when she came to Chicago, she knew several of my friends already...probably both
Maybe that's what all this is about. Maybe this is a signal that it's time for me to leave. Time for me to find answers to my questions or risk losing touch with everything. How I would love to just pack up my belongings and just travel the world in search of my calling, in search of my identity. I think not knowing who I am is what keeps me so messed up all the time. It's not the only thing but it does contribute to the problem. I know who I'd like to be but what you'd like to be and what you are often turn out to be two very different things.
I leave for New York in a week though I'm not sure why anymore. I'm really not looking forward to it any more because I'm afraid it'll just be a disaster. I'm not so sure Miss P. even wants me to visit. I feel like I'm just being pessimistic like usual but I think it's more of just common sense. Nothing ever works out for me so why should I expect this to? And after talking to Miss P. she didn't leave me with any sort of positive impression. Seems as if my visiting is just too much of a bother. Unfortunately I'm stuck with these plane tickets. I guess if things don't work out with Miss P. I can always just spend my time wandering around alone. It certainly won't be anything new. Maybe I should've just gone to Europe alone. Either way I'll be alone only at least if I'd have gone to Europe I'd have been prepared for it.
This is one of the earlier posts that mentions my lack of identity. Had I started journaling sooner, I bet I would have made mention of not knowing who I am quite often. Ever since I was a little girl, as far back as kindergarten, I can remember feeling odd, feeling like an outcast. Everyone else always seemed to have dreams for the future, everyone except me.
I often think that I should have taken the opportunity to travel during this point in my life. I had nothing tying me down, nothing to keep me from leaving Chicago and perhaps, had I hit the road, I would have found myself.
I did go to New York and it was not at all what I'd hoped it to be. Instead of staying at Miss P's house, we stayed at other people's houses. Places where I didn't really feel comfortable. We didn't do much except hang out, smoke and talk. One night we went to a concert and we did a little shopping during the day, but I had to cut the trip short because she didn't take the entire week off work. Unfortunately she didn't tell me that until after I was already there. I felt like I was in the way the whole time I was there, like a pesky little sister that's constantly following her older sister and her friends around.
All the signs were there before I even left that the trip wasn't going to be enjoyable, and I should have listened to them. Should have changed my ticket and gone some place else, any place else. I probably would have had a better time, even if I was all alone.
Not sure if I wrote in any of my journals about it (we'll find out when I get that far), but several years later Miss P came to Chicago to visit me and some other people she knew. She stayed with me for several days and we had a blast. I'm not sure if that's because she was more outgoing than I was, or because when she came to Chicago, she knew several of my friends already...probably both
9/25/88
Today has to be the saddest day of my life. My darling Mr. L passed away at 9:15 am. It's so hard to deal with. Especially since I watched him die and I was helpless to do anything. I tried getting him to a vet but there aren't any nearby that are open on Sundays and he just couldn't hold on long enough for me to reach the nearest one. I haven't yet buried him. I know it will be the hardest thing to do. I know he's gone but I keep looking at his cage hoping this is all a nightmare and he'll still be in there crunching through the cedar chips, trying to see if I won't let him out. Once he's in the ground the realization will hit. I loved him so much. He was a part of my life. A part of me. Things will never be the same again. I'll always feel this void in myself. The part of me that has died along with him is dead forever and nothing could revive it. They always say you never really know just how much you love someone until they're gone and that's so true. I wish I could have him back so I could play with him one more time. Love him and kiss him one more time, but it's all too late.
What hurts most is I had to watch him suffer. I think all this wouldn't be so hard if he had peacefully died in his sleep. But all I can picture is looking into his eyes and seeing how scared he was. Then he took his last breath and gave up. That's the image I have of him I'll always have. There's no way I'll ever forget that. It's kind of ironic though....that today, his death day, would be such a beautiful and peaceful day. Beautiful and peaceful...just like him. I love you now and forever my darling. May you rest in peace for all eternity.
Mr. L - November 1987 - September 1988
Very emotional post over a pet rat, but he was my only friend at the time and he really did mean that much to me. I was absolutely hysterical when he died in the car on the way to the only animal hospital I could find open on a Sunday, one that was half an hour away. This was the first time I'd ever lost anyone I loved. Sure I'd lost relatives before...both of my paternal grandparents, my maternal grandfather, an aunt here, an uncle there...but I was never close to any of them so their passing had no effect on me emotionally. I honestly didn't care. With Mr. L, I cared deeply.
Most people think rats are creepy and gross, but they are highly intelligent. I think of them as mini-dogs. You can train them just as you can a dog. They will learn their name and come when called. You can teach them tricks. They can't wait for you to play with them, so they anxiously await you to take them out of their cage so they can spend time with you.
I have gotten rats as pets twice since, but I tried not to connect with them the way I did with Mr. L. I didn't want to suffer the pain of that loss again. I'd love to get another one, but they die too quickly for me. It's one of the reasons we got our bunny. He was supposed to live at least five years, but we didn't even get that much time with him.
What hurts most is I had to watch him suffer. I think all this wouldn't be so hard if he had peacefully died in his sleep. But all I can picture is looking into his eyes and seeing how scared he was. Then he took his last breath and gave up. That's the image I have of him I'll always have. There's no way I'll ever forget that. It's kind of ironic though....that today, his death day, would be such a beautiful and peaceful day. Beautiful and peaceful...just like him. I love you now and forever my darling. May you rest in peace for all eternity.
Mr. L - November 1987 - September 1988
Very emotional post over a pet rat, but he was my only friend at the time and he really did mean that much to me. I was absolutely hysterical when he died in the car on the way to the only animal hospital I could find open on a Sunday, one that was half an hour away. This was the first time I'd ever lost anyone I loved. Sure I'd lost relatives before...both of my paternal grandparents, my maternal grandfather, an aunt here, an uncle there...but I was never close to any of them so their passing had no effect on me emotionally. I honestly didn't care. With Mr. L, I cared deeply.
Most people think rats are creepy and gross, but they are highly intelligent. I think of them as mini-dogs. You can train them just as you can a dog. They will learn their name and come when called. You can teach them tricks. They can't wait for you to play with them, so they anxiously await you to take them out of their cage so they can spend time with you.
I have gotten rats as pets twice since, but I tried not to connect with them the way I did with Mr. L. I didn't want to suffer the pain of that loss again. I'd love to get another one, but they die too quickly for me. It's one of the reasons we got our bunny. He was supposed to live at least five years, but we didn't even get that much time with him.
6/2/88
It's been quite some time since I've written in here hasn't it. I've experienced so much in the past 8 months. I was living in the city with a friend, I moved back home, etc. A lot of stuff I should've taken the time to write about but didn't. Oh well. I have to write now. This week has been the start of a new life for me. Yesterday I finally got my name changed. I am so incredibly happy! I nearly broke into tears at the courthouse I was so happy. For nearly 10 years I've wanted to change my name. To escape the life I lived with my old name and I finally got to see my dream come true. I'm truly _ _ _. I'm truly alive now. I'm not going to destroy this life. I'm not going to let anyone destroy it. I'm going to live as I want to, not as others think I should.
I finally started a real job today as well. I'll be making enough money to buy a car, clothes, records and to pay mom back the $4500 I owe her. I even lost 5 lbs! Things are really looking up for me. I just wish I could believe that things won't get bad, like they were before, again. I can't survive another trip through hell. I'd surely kill myself first.
Today I watched a movie about suicide. I can't see why people are so afraid to deal with it. They think there's nothing that could be so terrible to make someone want to end their life. Obviously they've never had a hard time in their life. I've been there. I know what it's like to need to die. That's why I'm not against suicide. I've been tormented and teased, not just by a small group of people but by society as a whole. I've lived a life that's meaningless and has no direction. For some death is the only solution. I often regret not having killed myself when I was younger. I no longer care if I live or die. It makes no difference to me one way or the other. Things maybe good at the moment but it's just a matter of time before the tables turn and things get bad again. That's why I live as emotionless as possible. There's no need to feel. It only makes things worse.
As I read this post, I remember the elation I felt as I stood before the judge and he said my new name for the very first time. It felt like he'd declared me a free woman after spending ten years in prison for a crime I did not commit. At the time I honestly believed that starting over with a new name and reinventing myself would change who I was, both inside and out. How incredibly naive of me.
Taking the "whatever" stance on life and death did help bring a sense of calmness to my life for a little while after I wrote this. But the prison of mental illness is eternal. There is no escape. We get glimpses every now and then of what a life free of pain is like, but it's just a teaser. A brief chance to feel the sun on our faces before the bars of our cell get slammed and locked in front of us again.
I finally started a real job today as well. I'll be making enough money to buy a car, clothes, records and to pay mom back the $4500 I owe her. I even lost 5 lbs! Things are really looking up for me. I just wish I could believe that things won't get bad, like they were before, again. I can't survive another trip through hell. I'd surely kill myself first.
Today I watched a movie about suicide. I can't see why people are so afraid to deal with it. They think there's nothing that could be so terrible to make someone want to end their life. Obviously they've never had a hard time in their life. I've been there. I know what it's like to need to die. That's why I'm not against suicide. I've been tormented and teased, not just by a small group of people but by society as a whole. I've lived a life that's meaningless and has no direction. For some death is the only solution. I often regret not having killed myself when I was younger. I no longer care if I live or die. It makes no difference to me one way or the other. Things maybe good at the moment but it's just a matter of time before the tables turn and things get bad again. That's why I live as emotionless as possible. There's no need to feel. It only makes things worse.
As I read this post, I remember the elation I felt as I stood before the judge and he said my new name for the very first time. It felt like he'd declared me a free woman after spending ten years in prison for a crime I did not commit. At the time I honestly believed that starting over with a new name and reinventing myself would change who I was, both inside and out. How incredibly naive of me.
Taking the "whatever" stance on life and death did help bring a sense of calmness to my life for a little while after I wrote this. But the prison of mental illness is eternal. There is no escape. We get glimpses every now and then of what a life free of pain is like, but it's just a teaser. A brief chance to feel the sun on our faces before the bars of our cell get slammed and locked in front of us again.
10/5/87
This is it! I can't take that little bitch any longer. If she doesn't watch herself, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of her. She gets away with everything because she kisses mom's ass and mom fucking falls for it. She's such a bitch. One of her bitch tricks is to use up all the gas I've put in the car and then doesn't put more in until after I've yelled at her for it. She then claims that what's in the tank is all her gas because she filled it. Um hello bitch? You filled it to replace all the gas I PAID FOR but didn't get to use. Another bitch trick is to claim she's "so sick" so she doesn't have to go to school and mom calls in for her. If she's so fucking sick all the time she should be in a goddamn hospital getting her fucking head examined! She's the main reason I want so desperately to move out. If I don't soon, I swear to god I'll kill her! And I mean it, I will! She has got to be the biggest witch that ever lived. She's even worse than most of my enemies. Come to think of it, I'd rather live with my enemies than her. They're probably a lot nicer. She's getting to be just like all those fucking bitches I had to contend with at school - but I think she's gonna be worse than them. I could ignore and get away from them. This bitch is always around. I hope when I move out I never see her ugly face again. If I do it'll be too soon. I wish she'd just die. Things would be at least a little better if she wasn't around. No...things would be A LOT BETTER!!
Me and Ms. D had better find permanent jobs this week, that's all I can say. We've got to get that apartment soon before I put that bitch in the hospital and then mom & dad blame me. It'll be her own fault, not mine. She's driving me to this terrible hatred towards her and if I don't leave soon, all hell's gonna break loose!
Like how I laid the blame on my sister for my anger? I'm sure plenty of people would say that's typical borderline personality behaviour. Nowadays I'm not so sure it was her that I was truly mad it. In all honesty, I think I was just jealous of her. The anger probably would have been better directed towards my mother and the unfair treatment I received versus what my younger sister did.
Since I was forced to support myself from a young age, as was my older sister, I didn't appreciate that the younger one wasn't held to that same standard. My parents would actually give her money for stuff, including gas. Whereas with me, from the moment I got my license, if I wanted to drive I had to pay my own way. I was also never allowed to miss a day of school unless I was so sick I was on the verge of being hospitalized. Yet if my sister had even a little sniffle, our mother was more than willing to call the school and report that she'd be absent.
The emotions were raw and very real for me. I seriously wanted to murder my sister at the time. I was dead serious when I wrote that. I'm amazed that I never actually grab her by the neck and start choking.
What's even more amazing is that I now consider her my best friend. It took awhile for us to get to this point, mostly because I kept my distance from her once I did move out. It wasn't until her first child was born just over 10 years ago that we started to grow close. Today she's there for me whenever I need her, and I'm there for her as well. She's never once treated me as anything less than a normal person. She didn't distance herself from me because of my mental illnesses like some of our other family members. She doesn't quite grasp the struggle I go through, but she at least tries to understand. She listens when I need to vent, when I need and can reach out for a shoulder to cry on; and she reaches out to me in return.
We spend a lot of time together these days, and I love her daughters almost as much as I love my own. We're not a touchy-feely kind of family...but I think the next time I see her (which will be in the next day or two) I might just hug her and say:
"Thanks for being my sister and for always being there when I need you. I love you."
She probably knows I feel this way, but I think she deserves to hear it.
Me and Ms. D had better find permanent jobs this week, that's all I can say. We've got to get that apartment soon before I put that bitch in the hospital and then mom & dad blame me. It'll be her own fault, not mine. She's driving me to this terrible hatred towards her and if I don't leave soon, all hell's gonna break loose!
Like how I laid the blame on my sister for my anger? I'm sure plenty of people would say that's typical borderline personality behaviour. Nowadays I'm not so sure it was her that I was truly mad it. In all honesty, I think I was just jealous of her. The anger probably would have been better directed towards my mother and the unfair treatment I received versus what my younger sister did.
Since I was forced to support myself from a young age, as was my older sister, I didn't appreciate that the younger one wasn't held to that same standard. My parents would actually give her money for stuff, including gas. Whereas with me, from the moment I got my license, if I wanted to drive I had to pay my own way. I was also never allowed to miss a day of school unless I was so sick I was on the verge of being hospitalized. Yet if my sister had even a little sniffle, our mother was more than willing to call the school and report that she'd be absent.
The emotions were raw and very real for me. I seriously wanted to murder my sister at the time. I was dead serious when I wrote that. I'm amazed that I never actually grab her by the neck and start choking.
What's even more amazing is that I now consider her my best friend. It took awhile for us to get to this point, mostly because I kept my distance from her once I did move out. It wasn't until her first child was born just over 10 years ago that we started to grow close. Today she's there for me whenever I need her, and I'm there for her as well. She's never once treated me as anything less than a normal person. She didn't distance herself from me because of my mental illnesses like some of our other family members. She doesn't quite grasp the struggle I go through, but she at least tries to understand. She listens when I need to vent, when I need and can reach out for a shoulder to cry on; and she reaches out to me in return.
We spend a lot of time together these days, and I love her daughters almost as much as I love my own. We're not a touchy-feely kind of family...but I think the next time I see her (which will be in the next day or two) I might just hug her and say:
"Thanks for being my sister and for always being there when I need you. I love you."
She probably knows I feel this way, but I think she deserves to hear it.
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