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2003-12-11 - 6:19 p.m.

'"yeah i have a scar i can talk about"'

Somehow my days have all ended up shuffled. This morning I woke up from dreams where I was being chased down through all my childhood homes to realize that today is Thursday. All of a sudden Thursday. And I still feel like I have too much to do before I fly 'home' on Sunday. The up side to the whole time drain is that I haven't really had much of a chance to freak out about heading that way.

Which is good. Especially since I know that as soon as I get there, my grandma is going to grab a hold of one hand and my dad will take the other. And they'll both tug. Yank. Try to pull me in. And as loved as that all is supposed to make me feel, I really don't much enjoy being the rope in their twisted little war game.

Not to mention the questions. They'll ask me if I have friends yet. If I have a job yet. About this 'cooking thing.' They'll ask me if it's hot down here. And it won't be like a conversation at all really. It'll be sparring. It'll be me justifying. It'll be frustrating. And mentally just fucking draining. Because I'll have to lie. And keep track of them all. All those fucking lies. The lies they force me to tell that make me resent them all a little more. A little more more more than before.

Or maybe I'll just come clean for once. There's an idea. Maybe I'll just say that I have no friends because I don't really want any right now. That I'm still trying too desperately to fill in the cracks from where my old 'friends' hit me with emotional sledgehammers to even begin to think about a brand new collection of shiny little friends. Each with weapons hidden until it's a little too late for me to run away.

I just really know too much by now. I know that I'm probably a bad judge of character. And that I trust too damn much. That I make it too fucking easy for people to wiggle in next to me and take advantage of how vulnerable I sometimes let myself be with people I trust. Usually mistakenly in the end. Maybe I'll tell them all that I'm not ready for that again. Not yet anyway.

But then, how do I tell my grandmother something like that? How do I tell her that I let someone evil a little too close to me and he ... well, he hurt me? There are just some things that my family doesn't really need to know about me. Like the real reason I left Albuquerque. Or that since I've started taking the pill I've been craving red meat and missing kissing so fucking much. There are just some things best left unsaid. Un-destroyed by the sometimes hidden reality of our lives. And that reality is that sometimes really bad fucking things happen to the people we love most. And those bad things chip away at us. Taking the wholeness away and leaving us in smaller more fragile parts. I know because it happened to me.

And the truth is that I'm doing the very best I can with what I've got left. I just really wish that I could say that to them in a way that they'd understand. That they'd nod with the knowing and maybe hug me a little bit. Maybe make things that much better. But I know I can't count on that. So I don't. And I lie for my own fucking self-preservation. Because that's what liars do. And that's probably exactly what I've become.

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all written material � jordorange 2003-2004

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