well, my shrink says that gettin some of the shit outta me on here is a good thing, so i'm gonna take another trip down memory lane

i think i left off at my parents, which is where all of anybody's shit starts, and at least i know that i'm at least halfway normal. well, in that regard anyway. really, though, a lot of this shit inside me needs to go to my mother's bastard. well maybe not. i mean, he obviously either had shit happenin to him or he was just plain born evil, which i can't dispute since i dunno who implanted the twisted little fuck into my mother's womb. maybe he's the twisted little fuck of a twisted big fuck and the whole thing's genetic. shame that genetic waste actually gets to live beyond its first month of breathing oxygenated air, especially when waste equals shit like the little shiteater my mother brought with her when she married my dad. i wish he'd've been a retard, but if he would've been a retard, there's little chance that my parents would've been my parents, which really isn't that much of a bad thing to consider anyway. not that i don't love my mom or anything, but if i'd've been given any choice in the matter, or if i'd've had to make a choice, i'd've chosen to be offspring of my father's clan over any chance of having the downside of the genetic material available on my mother's side. turns out that i got the best of both of'em, which is a whole lot more than i can say for the fuckups called my siblings. the best of'em, excluding my stepbrother, who i've heard is quite the fuckup in his own right -- what is it about mothers with fucked up boys that attracted my dad anayway? -- but of all the ones i grew my first thirteen years with, the best of them is terminally ill and has been hangin on a dialysis needle for almost thirty years and refusin any form of transplant cuz he doesn't wanna contract another dreaded disease on top of the one he's already got. sorta makes sense in an odd little fuckup way. he's the smartest of my mother's three boys. sux, don't it.

so i've figured out that i'm avoiding sex because i don't feel safe enough to engage in it with the partner i've chosen to walk this leg of my journey with. prolly why i got a hard on in dominicana last month. boy had me with a look and it don't hurt that i had him with one too. god, i miss feelin safe. miss walkin down the street knowin that they knew who i belonged to and seein them feelin the fear that such knowledge brought forth. i miss belongin to someone i feel safe enough with to wanna belong to. so i guess i've hit the point where i finally have to accept that my life consists of what never existed before he did and will never exist now that he is no longer in my life that way. i've been runnin from that, i guess, though that's about par for the course for me. run from that which i don't wanna see and abdicate all responsibility whenever possible. i wanna belong to someone, not have someone belong to me who doesn't seem strong enough to have me belong to them. i can keep runnin if i want to. but i don't want to. this relationship will probably end, and i don't wanna run from that either. hell, sometimes i wanna run toward that, but that's another discussion entirely. but there are some separatory issues that we must face together because in my insanity, i've allowed myself to become a babysittin enabler and that shit don't jive with who i know i'm really meant to be. and i don't wanna be taken care of, either -- especially by someone who sounds like their soul is shatterin into a thousand tiny pieces everytime they say that they're worried about me. dammit, if you're gonna tell me you're worried about me, at least sound like you're strong enough to actually handle bein worried about me, otherwise it just creeps me out and makes me run like hell in the other direction. but i digress . . .

so what does this have to do with my parents, my twisted fuck of a brother, and how can i reconcile it without hatin my parents? trillion dollar question, if i've ever seen one. well, far as i can tell, it's true what my shrink said when she said that our/my mother/s teach me/us how to be in a relationship and my/our father/s teach us/me what to do in a relationship. i be too thought-filled and i do run like a bitch when the goin gets close. i never ran from him, though -- the one i belong/ed to. that goin got real close. guess it's a good thing we never shared living quarters. don't think i'd remember how it felt to love what that was if we'd've had to do the day-to-day shit together. 'sides, it's good to have that to look at sometimes cuz when i feel like runnin, at least i don't run for real. or, at least, biologically, anyway. though i guess i do, especially when i start wishin my period would start so i can say fuck no with impunity. i hate feelin guilty about sayin no to a pair of eyes that adores me beyond words. it's a fucked up world, no doubt.

when i was fifteen and sixteen years old, i was not allowed to have friends. that may be a bit exaggerated, but while my mother's bastard was out runnin the streets and gettin locked up for way stupid shit -- that's another chapter entirely -- and my younger sibs were out havin a grand old time doin whatever the fuck they felt like doin, my mom told me that i had to come straight home from school and not leave the house for any reason except emergency because she needed me to stay in the house in case somebody important called or in case she needed to call home for whatever reason. what the fuck was that about? that's why i've been so fucked over the last year or so. i'm still in that babysitter/enabler twistercane. godDAMN it, says the eight-year-old with the foul mouth that i love so dearly. speakin of whom, how fucked up is it that michael mcdonald was/is so petrified of losing his christian-music fans that not only is the satan character NOT listed in the bigger/longer cast credits, but his name doesn't even appear on the screen until almost the very last credit -- meaning, we don't see michael mcdonald's name until after the caterers and fiftyfifth assistants, but before the production company logo reappears. i listened to that song he sings at the end, the one that talks about the darkness in a child's soul and what bastards they really are and havin his friends detail your car for about twenty bucks. he must know a lot of latinos. but he does all that, plus that fuckin tripped out up-there song -- is that a fag connotation or what -- and he's so scared shitless that you don't even know it's him unless you're a geek who sits through to the very last scene before the screen goes all ashy. like me. i love that movie. i watched it every night for about ten days, and i watched it four times just yesterday, in part to make up for not seeing it for several days recently. layers upon layers of the best fucked up shit i've ever seen. thanks for turnin me onto them. and the squidbillies. some of that adult swim shit is . . . just lovely.

well i've got a paper and a coupla other shiteatin things i gotta do but i gotta sleep too and what with the new pup and all, i need to get outta my own headspace for a bit.