I'm so very

frustrated right now.

And I realize when dealing with something as enormous as death, frustration seems like a pretty pitiful emotion. But it's true. I am so ungodly frustrated.

I'm being punished for something I don't really understand. I'm not a petulant child or anything, I can accept punishment. I just honest to god don't understand what I did wrong. It was supposedly a "second time offense," but when I asked, Dad couldn't come up with a first time. His best option was "I shouldn't have to keep track." If I'm being punished Dad, you kind of do. I spent the night at Connor's house, which he said was fine, as long as I let people know. I let Julie know. I kept the car, and yes, that was a mistake, but there are two other cars at home, and Alison got to work fine.


But apparently that wasn't enough, and I'm out of a cell phone for two weeks.

Which is even more irritating, because Connor is leaving for Gulf Shores tomorrow morning. And I hate myself for becoming so reliant on him, but I didn't really have a choice. If I didn't lean on loved ones, I'd probably be a hell of a lot worse off right now. But anyway, this vacation is coming precisely when I need him the most, but of course it'd be way too selfish to stop him. So given that he's going, his regular good night phone calls just became a lot more important. For better or for worse, I need him. And because of this Dad shit, it's a hell of a lot harder to get a hold of me.

And I have a really hard time taking this from Dad. Because Mom would have never done that. She wasn't much a punisher, but she also treated us with respect. And it's hard after she basically raised me for seventeen years, having my Dad swoop in and suddenly tell me what I can and can't do.

And I'm so tired of not knowing what I'm allowed to do or say, and walking on eggshells.
It's just all so goddamn frustrating.

I have no

motivation.
feelings.
energy.
vigor.
power.
life.

I'm too exhausted to break down.
I'm too exhausted to be alive anymore.

Dear Mom,

We love you.

I'm sorry you were in so much pain.
And I'm sorry your body failed you.
I know you fought has hard as you possibly could, and that means the world.
I also know you wouldn't want our lives to fall apart, and I promise you, they won't.

You're free, and you're at peace now.
And we love you so, so much.

Barbara Ellen Knarr
February 16, 1950 - May 29, 2008

And...

It's gone.

Warm.

I had a really, really good day today.

Things with Connor were perfect, I managed to help out with Sara.
I did enough at my house, got enough sleep, and above all, I felt loved
and secure. Really safe and cozy, that warm glow you get when you're
surrounded by people who love you.

I'm not sure if this is an isolated incident, but I hope not.
I really hope its part of a greater trend, because it felt wonderful.

Lonely.

It's just that I've run out of ideas. I've always been able to muster up some courage or some wisdom, some insight to help me get through things.

But it's all run dry. And I just feel exhausted, so tired of carrying this life, of trying to make it work.

And this paralyzing loneliness has been chasing me all day.

I want to feel happy without this insane clutching.
I want to appreciate Connor, and my friends, without being terrified of losing them.
And above all, I'm tired of feeling crazy. I want some form of security.

God's going to need to intervene here, because I'm no longer equipped.

Rant.

I don't have the enthusiasm or the clear-headedness to write this entry with any stab at eloquency. So be forewarned.

I'm so tired.

Especially of this constant one step forward, two steps back. My mom is back in the hospital (on Mother's Day, no less). It's just for an infection, the doctors assured us she'll be out by Wednesday or Thursday.

But pardon my candor, but WHAT THE FUCK?

I can't believe she's back in there, again. She goes in and out several times a week for chemotherapy and blood work. We still have an oxygen machine in my house. She still has an angry graft vs. host rash all around her skin. And let's not forget, that the morning after her birthday she had to be rushed back in to the hospital!

I'm so tired of this. It's getting so fuckinkg ridiculous. Why is she not getting better? Why are we STILL dealing with this?

And of course, I still get to deal with Shelby being an angry cunt. I have all these festering resentments with people.

Julie is dating an addict, while she's fresh out of rehab. Smart, Julie. And I tried so hard to be supportive of her, but it's not a good idea. They specifically warn against that kind of shit! And I'm still so proud of the moves she's taken, but it all means nothing if she just throws it away again. Her boyfriend relapsed, was kicked out of his house, and Julie asked Dad if he could stay. As calmly as possible, he told her that was a terrible idea, then came in and told me he was convinced she was "high as a fucking kite."

And now I'm sitting here, working half-heartedly on some Creative Writing homework (after wrapping up a five page English paper). And needless to say, I'm fed up. I have my phone next to me, because I keep wanting to text Connor. But I know that's a terrible idea. I know I'm too needy and way too dependent, but somehow I really need to hear him talk.

I'm a fucking mess, and I'm so sick of it.