I just don't get it!! You were kicked out of your house for being gay, we took you in. Things got better so you moved back home. A year later you were kicked out again (or left w/e) because it was getting abusive, we had moved to a smaller house but we still let you live with us. It destroyed my relationship with my mother and brother. It lead my brother down the road I never wanted him to go down, the road of suicidal level depression and cutting. I've watched him slowly sink into that hole that never seems to end. I was seriously scared for him. And still am.

The relationship with my mother went from nearly indestructible to literally nothing. We couldn't be in the same room without the air being so thick with tension you could literally cut it with a knife. But we all put up with it because you needed a place to stay, because it was that, live at home (and be abused) or live on the streets. Our house was the best option yet it practically destroyed what life I had built up around me.

I went into one of the deepest darkest depressions I've been in, in a long time. I think the only reason why I didn't a) run away from home b) kill myself is because of my boyfriend and his family. I had no mother (but was forced to live there) my possition as her eldest child was basically torn away from me by my best friend, and I didn't have much of a relationship with my father at this time. I felt totally alone. And it was my fault, because I allowed you to shove your way into this world I had created.

Then you come out with the story about how you were abused. Your dad was everything from physically abusive including neglectful, emotionally abusive, but somehow wasn't sexually abusive? It doesn't add up. If someone is going to abuse that much, why wouldn't they complete the trifecta. I've never heard of this. Plus your dad was always around our house spending time with you. You had the best time when he was around. For Christmas and your birthday things like that you'd get gifts from him and it seemed to be the best gifts you'd ever get were from him. It didn't make sense. Plus you were the happiest person on the planet. Not at all bitter or angry at the fact that you had "such a terrible childhood". You even compared yours to mine! You fucking prick! You weren't raped, let alone raped by your oldest brother. How dare you say you're childhood was worse than mine. I don't think your's is worth peanuts when compared to the shit I deal with everyday.

My mother went out of her way to provide you with what your mother had neglected to give you and wouldn't give you. She reserved an entire section of a busy downtown bar in the city for your 19th b-day. Didn't invite me. But whatever. If you ever needed anything and didn't have the money you'd come to my mom and she'd get it for you as soon as possible. If I asked her, I'd get a roll of the eyes, and a "you have a job, why can't you get it yourself?!"

We helped you pack and move 8+ hours north to get you to your "awesome amazing university where you could start a new life". Did I ever get a thankyou? No. I'm hurt. I opened my life to you, thought I could trust you. You lived in my fucking house for a year you dill-hole. Anytime you come back to town I don't even get a hello. Not on a facebook message/wall post, or a text message, not even a fucking email. What kind of appreciation is that shit?! You know what:

FUCK

YOU!

You slimy son-of-a-bitch. I'm tired of your bullshit. Next time "mommy abused me" I'm going to say "ya, ok what do you want me to do about it? You're a big boy stand up to her!" and walk away because I'm done with you. I bent over backwards for you like a million times and I am now totally blown off for your new university friends. Oh, I forgot to mention, I saved your ass from all the homophobic threats on your life by reporting them to the principal. I risked my ass to save yours. And again I got no thank you for that either.....

So here's my final goodbye...

Fuck you you alcoholic homosexual asshole. I never want to see or hear from you ever again. I can't fucking stand you. I'm so done with you.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck fucking morons!!!!!

!$#^%)!(&$^!$%&!$#%)&!@&%!)$^&! #$|%&!)#$(^! !#$%&!#$)^&  !#$)^(&!#$% !#$%&)(^& )(**^$$ !$%$!@$&^$%!

Now that I have that out of my system...........

Ok so many of you one here are/were self-harmers (is that even a word....?) As such you probably know of TWLOHA (or: to write love on her arm). For those who don't know what TWLOHA is, it's a day (or many days during the year) in which people all over the globe write the word Love (in any language or colour) on their arm. This is usually put around the wrist area (most common place to cut). I don't know if it's just me, but I find that is more triggering than anything. I might just be overly sensitive I'm not really sure. But anyways.

When I see someone with the word Love on their wrist I look down at mine, and I see scars. Not just a couple scars, I mean like a large number of scars. So much so that for around 2 inches from the bottom of my hand upwards towards my elbow all I can see are these skinny faint white lines that are scars from when I've put a blade to my skin and dragged it accross, splitting skin and allowing blood to flow.

Another thing. I don't know about anyone else, but I tend to associate love with Pain and suffering. The person who raped me was someone I trusted and kind of sort of loved (step brother). But he betrayed that love and trust and hurt me in one of the worst ways possible. How can I look at the word love and not think of what has happened to me? This is why this event kills me inside. I nearly died because of this event one year. I was so upset and distracted (and dissassociated bad enough) that when I crossed a busy street coming home from school at the end of the day, I nearly got run over by a car or two. I should have died. That triggered something inside me. Like a little bomb. That I'd become numb again. Guess what happens to people who used to be self-harmers who realize they have become numb...? THEY START CUTTING AGAIN!!!!! Arg!!!

These people don't seem to get what I"m trying to say. It's not like I'm trying to say not to do any kind of awareness campaign about self-harm and teen suicide. Hell no. I nearly lost a friend to suicide. We were damned lucky she survived and I"m happy she's around today. But I nearly lost a friend because of this event as well. She was so upset by this event that she went home with the plan to kill herself. She didn't want to deal with the issues that she had bottled up inside (thusly needing the release of cutting) and it was just going to be easier to kill herself. We were lucky again that her plan didn't succeed. It just annoys me how ignorant people have become. Of other's feelings and beliefs and all sorts of things.

I want to stop cutting but every time this event comes around I feel the need to cut even more. I was cut free for years.... And now it's hard to go a couple days without feeling a blade against my skin.... It's tearing apart everything that I have in my life. It's starting to scare me.

Did I mention one year during TWLOHA day, I decided to participate. But I did it in the way I knew best.... Yup I cut the word love into my arm. Had it all over my arm. I personally thought it was beautiful. The looks of disgust and the lectures I got from people participating just drove me up the wall. I wanted to punch so many people because apparently "I need saving" and what I'm doing is not healthy and is bad for me.... Ok so you want me to bottle up my fucking emotions and get so pissed off that I go to some bank somewhere with a bomb or come to school one day with a fucking gun and shoot the place up...? Ok I'll go ahead and do it if you want me to!!!

Le sigh,

Continuation of my little escapade with the hospital.....

So after seeing my doctor being told to go to the ER, and the million hours of waiting in a VERY uncomfortable chair. Not to mention the annoying pee test (oh the dignity...) plus numurous vials of blood taken. They decide it would be a good idea to take me down to get an ultrasound... oh wait that's right, my side feels like I've been stabbed a billion times with a red hot firey poker! So they then decide to put me on morphine to kill the pain before sending me to the ultra sound, plus there was a wait to get into the ultrasound so it would make sitting in said very uncomfortable plastic chair a teeny weeny bit more bearable.... barely...

So they tell me they are going to put the IV in my wrist.... but before doing so I needed to change into a hospital gown.... What hospital gowns and and IV had to do with anything really beats me since I was still in the ER and wasn't really admitted yet. But I digress. So i strip down, (infront of my mother because they needed to make sure I didn't fall over..... I was in pain people not drunk or high!!!!) and get into the gown. Why the heck do they put the ties up at the back?!?! The little bow/knot digs into your spine and hurts like a son-of-a-*****! Plus they don't close completely so your butt and any other things (guys think your little men down there) are fully on display if you go anymore than at a snails pace walking.... So I'm sitting there on a hospital gurney, knots digging into my spine freaking out because they are about to stick a gigantic needle into my hand and then all sorts of stuff, and this nurse comes in and sees me freaking the heck out. Thank God for this woman. She tells me that she's ok if I cry, yell, swear, and even scream!! I swear this woman is like God in nurse form! So she tells me she won't do anything till my mom is back (my mom went to take a pee.... how convenient mother... I'm just going to get jabbed with a 4 inch needle in my hand and have them keep it there for the next 4 days, nothing big....) Once my mother decides to come back, the nurse takes my hand tells me to take a deep breathe (hard enough as is since I'm in searingly horrible pain from my appendix) and to hold my mother's hand (with my other hand of course....) and on the count of three there will be a small pinching feeling in my hand.

Not so much! Said "little pinching pain" was more like stabbing yourself in the hand with a fork. And this pain didn't go away after a couple minutes. Oh no this pain went on for like the 8 hours.... This is where I tell you that I'm all over 100 pounds when I'm soaking wet right out of the shower.... So my hands are rather boney and "dainty" as my mother put it. So every little beat of my heart sent blood pumping through my veins and arteries and caused the IV needle to pulse with it, moving it around and causing such lovely pain... and then there's the fact that there was liquid being forced none to gently into my vein or artery or what ever the heck she shoved the bugger into which burned like crazy because someone decided it would be a good idea to store liquid morphine IN THE FRIDGE!!!! This makes it burningly cold going into your body with your blood!! So then I'm holding my hand tight so I'm shaking less due to the pain, causing less shifting of the IV and the nurse decides that I should probably let go of the hand and rest the hand with the IV in it on a pillow, I didn't think so, I liked where my hand was and it made me comfortable. So after a 20 minute yelling match in the ER waiting room she gives up. 4 hours later I'm still in pain but oddly enough my hands, face, and feet are all funny feeling. I guess I don't react to morphine like "normal" people do, and it's not a pain killer for me it just makes me feel funny.

Now this whole time I've forgotten that I was wearing my contact lenses as opposed to my regular glasses. By now the IV is in and taped like mad crazy to my hand and I can't move it, you need 2 hands to put in/remove contact lenses from off your eyeball.... So I toddle into the bathroom, dragging my IV pole with me and trying to keep from giving everyone in the ER a free show of my bare butt with my mother behind me laughing like crazy to take my lenses out... So 45 minutes later and a million times poking myself in the eyes the contacts are out and I've got my glasses on. And I sit back down in my chair.

I'll leave it at that, hopefully in the next day or two I'll get the ultra sound story up here because it's even funnier than this one.... I get even more sarcastic! Oh? You guys thought THIS entry had lots of wit and sarcasm just you wait! It won't be up tomorrow since I'm moving my father from one house to another, but I may have some spare time tonight to start typing it up and possibly get it up here. There are still atleast 2 or 3 more stories, "the ultrasound from hell" "The waiting game and surgery pre/post op" and then "Recovery the final chapter, sort of" 

You came into my room that night. Why? I do not know. You never told me what you were doing. Only now do I know that it was wrong. I lost my trust in you, and men in general. You snatched away my childhood. Something I'd only just started living. Why did you do that? How could you?

I wish I could turn back time. Make sure it didn't happen. Stop you from making that decision. Stop me from allowing it. If only it hadn't happened. We could have had a different friendship, our lives would have been vastly different. Less time wasted, less life wasted. Less blood poured from my scarred wrists. I wear this sleeve of lines upon my arm as a reminder of the pain you caused to me. Hours spent talking and writing and drawing. All in vain. Money poured away into counselling sessions I didn't want or need. The legal junk that hasn't done anything. All I want is for you to tell me why you did it.

Do I forgive you? No, you look so much from me. And for what? A moment to feel macho and manly because you could over power someone? One day I might be able to look you in the eye and say it's ok, I forgive you, I'm not mad. But it's been nearly 10 years. And I still can't look at you and say I love you without feeling my stomach clench and feel the need to throw up because you just cause me to feel sick when you're in the room. 

 The blade, it has become my only true friend.