On a random note

Been thinking about cleaning out my closet/drawers/room. So far, mainly the second. I think I'm down to about... eight pairs of underwear and four non-sports bras. This might be a problem later on. I might wind up seeing if I can survive until thanksgiving.

If so, I'm going on a spree.

God, I'm turning into a girl.

How can one go home again when home is undefinable?

Well, to whoever reads this, know that I'm making plans to go "home" for the Thanksgiving break. For a few days at most, but I have a feeling that I won't come out of this break mentally unscathed. My family and I haven't been on good terms, ever. With a mother who thought that banging a baby's head on a table was a good idea on how to make it stop crying until she finally wound up leaving due to mental health issues, a "father" who believed that continuing the cycle of violence and abuse was a good way to carry on his life, and a grandmother who seems adamant on reminding everyone around her that because she is not well she should be the number one thing in everyone's life, I don't know how I'll be able to stand it.


That's not the words of things though. I've made a decision that I will not be going home for the month surrounding Christmas. Last year was a major step since I only spent a week in town. That didn't go over well to say the least. I wound up leaving without incident. I wish I could say the same about this past summer. This summer was my own proverbial Hell. From hospital to home and back again without a moment to myself for the most part. Barely a moment to sleep, the side effects of which I am still working through even now, going on five months later.


I've grown too used to my freedom to go back to the confines - the prison that my hometown represents. I'm not the lonesome little freshman that I was four years ago. I'm not the tired sophomore that existed three years back. I've found my rhythm in this world and to go back to a life that forces me to suppress all that is unthinkable. I just need to think of a way to tell my family. Especially, after Thanksgiving when I make my last plea for assistance from them for tuition.

My quest, but not my apartment

For the first time since moving into my apartment, I don't feel safe sleeping there. Not safe as if I'm in personal danger, but safe as in if I stay there, my temper will be too shot to keep from not snapping at someone at work. So for tonight, I'm crashing in my neighbor's apartment while he stays over at his girlfriend's place. Tomorrow night, if I don't feel any better about it, I'm probably going to be in search of refuge for yet another night. Not sure how long I'll be able to keep this up, but you know what? I've done my duty in trying to ease the tension in the apartment, and it hasn't worked.


I've gone through the proper procedures. Talking has done no good so far. Instead, they seemed to clam up even further, and when the next step was brought up (bringing in a mediator), they got hostile. They said my roommate and I were being stupid for wanting to seek an unbiased third party to help solve things. They openly mocked us in front of the wrong party's door, while she was crying over a friend who had been murdered.


One was blatantly snotty to me and making remarks that were uncalled for the minute she saw me. They even went so far as to make a blatant commentary about us that was uncalled for.


I'm having to believe that it's time for people take a moment and do a reality check. Stop defending the baby thieves of the world. Let them grow up in the light of day instead of shielding them underneath the wing of a sister who believes that no wrong can be done.


I'm done.

The Life Chaotic

In my four years in college, I've discovered many things. I've discovered that a lot of the friendships that we form in this time of life aren't quite deep and meaningful like we'd hope they would be. They aren't all drinking binges and frat parties gone terribly wrong. There's a hint of fear that we learn to live off of. A fear that we all thrive on in the end, or else we are crushed beneath the weight of it.


This has been my experience anyways. And here, I write without fear of discovery, for only those that I trust with my most personal thoughts know of this. Or those who I do not know at all. Nothing ever matters about this in the end. My thoughts are my own, and I wish to express them in one way for the other is lost to me, buried beneath a fear that is ingrained by a past I'd never adjusted to.


I rant, I rave, I live and I cry. This is my life though, and I have come to expect the happy and the disturbing. The laughable and the disconcerting. Any problems with that, and I simply cannot care. This is my sanctuary. This is where I search for the remnants of my lost sanity. This, as this is so aptly named, is my quest.