ShangriLaLove28

After my drunken scandal last night, I've decided to get the balls to finally ask him over and talk to him and confront him
It wasn't actually a confrontation, but it was more... intervention. And by that I mean, clear the fog and get out of this funk we've been in together for a long long time
I've been down in the dumps for the past 11 hours thinking that I ruined two people's chances at happiness, when in fact I didn't
For so long I've tried so hard to be the best friend that I always wanted to be and to receive that benefit in return
And maybe I did the right thing and maybe it'll be enough to remedy the guilt like ice cold water to a pill I just can't swallow
Or maybe I just dug myself into a deeper hole, all the way into the flames of hell itself
He says he knew all alone and it was completely his fault-- he's the one that blew it
So maybe I was being hard on myself for nothing
While we were in my kitchen, he looked solemn, almost lost in thought, thinking so deeply. I can see it every time I look at him. The wheels in his head are always turning, calculating and overthinking and estimating
I told him about my interest and I told him about my guilt when I thought I was keeping him away from my best friend when in truth he already knew
Each time I look at them-- I can't help but feel responsible for their unhappiness
And then the voice of my tormentor comes to my mind-- telling me that I'm the one who makes everything worse
That people become powerless to stop me when I'm in my destructive mood and they don't want me around anymore because I make them miserable
In the dark places of my mind, I think he was right to call me a monster every day before and after school
Then when the alcohol is all gone and the lights go out, he turns into a monster too
And maybe that sums everything up, my birth, my childhood, my disastrous voyage into adulthood and everything has lead to the horrible and terrible truth
That I'm a soul sucking monster
It keeps replaying in my head like a home movie, the reels keep coming and they won't leave me alone
But as I was at the bottom pit of my despair and guilt-- He assured me it wasn't my fault, comforting and understanding, like dad used to be
There was nothing I did wrong and it was never my fault-- I didn't do anything wrong and there is no one to blame but himself for what happened
He talks about the old times and the good times and the bad times and the terrible times, going through every detail and using every step of assurance
Coaxing me to calm down and not think so much
With all his perfections and imperfections, flaws and wrongs, he's still a wonderful man
In the sweet moments when the clock stops, our shifts are over, and there's no one else around we talk like regular human beings
It's been so long since I would see him like this, too
Not gossiping, not sad, not angry, not moody, not grumpy, but the slate is wiped clean and he can talk about anything everything or nothing
Seemingly, we are both strangers to each other but somehow beneath all the bullshit and lies, he and I are assholes and sweethearts together
Does that make sense?
Two sides of the same coin
Like the Bonnie and Clyde thing respecting each other's aspects, beliefs, flaws while causing mayhem together
Dangerous or chaotic or not, we get along
I like that
But the most favorable thing I admire is his deep seeded romantic heart
Willing to do everything and anything for the woman he loves
Prepared to give
Prepared to change
Prepared to die for her
It's rare to find someone who will do that
It's like... finding a snow leopard

Ok, truth be told. It was a tiny interest. Not the school girl into the boy INTEREST, but a small interest. The kind that I just couldn't keep a fucking secret, so I told my friend and it was nice at first. He was interesting. Not the normal person you would meet every day. It was a fascinating interest.
The kind that makes you think... "What if..."
And then you realize that the guy you like isn't boyfriend material... he was more like friend material. Worse than that? He was Father material.
And then the horror struck me like a shovel to the face. Oh my god he reminds me of my dad! He's around the same age and has the same wonderful personality too
So maybe that was why I was so fascinated with him, because he reminds me of a time when my life didn't suck.
Because he reminded me of a time when everything and everyone was innocent. When no one went to jail and no one got drunk and when no one went to war with 11 year old me in the middle. Back when everything was so much happier and I wasn't so miserable.
And my biggest mistake? Telling my friend about it. Then her friend heard about it and then she just HAD to open her fucking mouth and blurt it out. And in the back of my mind I think the asian bitch is trying to get back at me for stealing her best friend away. And of course he comes to me and asks me about it and it all goes to hell. It gets awkward. It gets uncomfortable. I hate myself.
So.... I told him the truth. Maybe not the whole truth. But.... the truth. That he reminds me too much of my father to be a boyfriend. It sounds nasty as hell, but it's true. Then worst of all... he doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm this cold hearted soul sucking monster who manipulates and seduces everyone into my web of lies and I have no way to defend myself. When he thinks he's right... he thinks he's ALWAYS right. And there's no way to start a debate with him.
MY only defense? This nice ice cold glass of sweet white wine in my hand.
The only way to remedy my pain was to get a little drunk. I'm tired of this high-school pyramid shit. But, can you blame me? Somehow EVERYONE thinks I'm this bubbly horrible liar who tries to seduce them with my lies! If I say I'm telling you the truth then that means I AM!
And now .... this has turn into the biggest Suck-Fest ever....
So.... here I am....
Miss Wolf in Sheep's Clothing...
I have no confession to give, but if I had to chose one? Then I would tell all my haters.... FUCK YOU

It's been three days since I've moved into my new apartment and so far.... my life has been one big chaotic happy amazing time, I can't believe it.Every day when I wake up in my new bed and I realize that it's not my old room, I get confused for a moment, and remember... oh yes, this is my place. My own place. Then I smile and sleep in until noon because there's no one to tell me otherwise. Three days ago had been a huge turning point. Not the kind that defines me but the kind that sets me free from the house of horror. And by horror I mean my horrible uncle. I'm so happy I don't have to deal with his drunken pathetic human life form again. To deal with every little wrong thing that happens in his life. Every favor for money. For every breakup with a girlfriend. For every iTunes account crisis. For every win and lose the Diamonds make in their baseball games. For every life-changing song he finds on Youtube from an alternative band. For everything he couldn't hand or for everything he wanted or hated or loved, I was somehow always there to take his rage and his problems. I have a place of  my own. And he still has the nerve to call me and ask for a ride? Fucking terrible. So far my friends and I go downtown and we dance at the Lumberyard and go to Collins and Monsoons and anywhere else that is fun. I appreciate it. All of it. I'm so happy. I'm so fucking happy. The fight is over. The screaming is over. And so is Gatsby. He's sleeping in the bottom clothes drawer next to my bed. Adorable.
Even though I barely have any food to eat or anything to keep burglars away or any clue how I'm going to pay next month's rent... I'm happy. More happy than I've been in a very long time. Breathing for the first time can be incredible in the best way. In the back of my mind I know that somehow or someway I'm being extremely selfish and mean, asking my dad for help with money. But doesn't he understand how miserable I was? Maybe he didn't. Or maybe he did and he didn't know how to handle it just like my grandparents did. Maybe we were all afraid of him. Somewhere in the space between me and my dad-- we both knew that I was in a morbidly deep depression when I was living in that little trailer park. Ever since then, there's been no love. Only verbal abuse. With the occasional shouting and yelling. After the bed time pillow talk and apologies and stupid iPhone songs, my uncle would do the same thing the next weekend, worse than the last. Then it would happen all over again.
I guess you can say that I had developed a Stockholm Syndrome and I didn't know that he was being so horrible to me and the people around him, it was regular and occasional when he would talk about the bet he would lose, or when he would lose all of his money at the casino. The continuing verbal abuse had somehow stuck to me like a thorn and I had no one to tell me that I could defend myself or fight back. Or maybe I was too scared to face him. But around the time that I had turned 21, a couple days after my birthday, something in the back of my mind told me that I had the power to change my life before it got worse. And that's what I did. Taking each newspaper and taking each online ad, there had to be some place where I could rebuild my confidence, humanity, regain my self worth again. Just like my mom did when she was my age. She escaped this place with a trailer and U-Haul and voyaged to the golden glamorous L.A. to further her career in modeling and use her brains and beauty to make something of herself. Then when she was on the summit of her dream, she would take me out there with her. To a place where everything was so sparkling and beautiful, it was a place for the Gods and she would introduce me to directors and photographers and dancers and models and dazzling people that I never wanted to leave.
Now that she's gone and we can't talk anymore, there's the chance that I could do what she did. Only this time; I'll be alone. Dad won't be there if my truck breaks down. My grandpa won't be there if I end up in jail. Grandma won't be there if I suddenly get knocked up and have a baby. Uncle especially won't be there if any shit I get myself into. It's every man for himself, and I learned at a very age where my uncle's rage came, he would tell me... That's Life.
And I hate him.
He's the reason that I moved out.
And maybe he's the reason I'll be happy to know that I left when I did--- before I die

The best parts of being in an abusive household are the memories of all the things that happened to you
Like the drunken nights and the arguments and the fights and the swearing
The best part of being curled on my bed while everyone was yelling? It was being alone.
Finally being alone! Where no one can call you anything bad or anything they would regret if they were sober
It's a part of being a young adult that we all learn from time to time
Whether it's hard to admit or to easy to confess their crimes-- we all bare the scars that our elders give us
Scars to scars, they were lessons hard learned and burned into our memories so we wouldn't have the future they had
In a bad neighborhood or in a bad house, there had been no good dead done
And one day when we are older and wiser and colder-- we'll remember the best parts of our youth
Remember how strong we became
And remember a time when no one loved us
to know that you were alone when you wanted help, a shoulder to cry on, or a listening ear
Nothing to cushion our fears or help the sleepless demons underneath the beds and in the closets
That all the times that a fist was in contact with our bodies-- we hoped for a hope that could save us
Becoming the Underdog was our true one and only First Job
Before adulthood we had to walk through boyhood or girlhood unprepared for how cold the world was
Silver spoon up our ass or not-- I'll always remember how strong I was and still are
For every ride in the car I took
Every dirty look
Every journal book that held all of my confessions and depressions that I wrote in the night
When everyone was asleep and I took the fight into my own heart and wished that there was someway to for me and him to be apart
It was him that drove me from my home
And make a home somewhere else
And even if it does mean that I won't have family or friends for a while-- but that's okay because being close to someone was never my style
So instead I wrote into my journals and books and diaries of all my misadventures and crazy times
Writing down stupid rhymes about sticks and stones will never break my bones, instead feet and hands will
But the best parts are the moments when I knew I could drown my heartache and participate in the hard work of forgiveness
Even though you don't deserve it
You deserve nothing
Because you were not the best part

Holding my breathe I can't help but be scared
Maybe I love him
It's May 5th 2015 and I love him, my darling
My darling knight in Packer armor