Thanks to niks, and everyone else, I really appreciate it. :) I've cooled down a bit. It's so difficult to be around Dad sometimes...the old parts of him are still there, and it smacks me right in the face each time they show.
Today I came home from summer school and fell asleep, though I tried desperately not to; I had to make sure Mom got up from her nap to get to her meeting on time, and Betsy and I had an appointment. Dad was picking us up at 2. Betsy woke me up and we went outside and got in the car. Dad asked why I was wearing my pj pants. It was a counseling appt. and if I don't have school (during the school year) or if it's the summer, like now, I usually just wear my pj's there. No one there cares. Dad looked all pissed off and we sat in the driveway for a few minutes while he bitched about it. Saying things like "You can't walk around the streets dressed like that", "Don't you have anything else to wear?" I said I didn't have any clean pants. He said, "Well what do you do all day? Sit around on your butts?"
So we went the appt. and afterwards Dad asked if we wanted ice cream. So we went to Purity. I asked if we were all going in, and he nodded. He asked everyone what they wanted and then we all started to get out. I opened my door and he looked at me and said "Oh, don't come in like that. Sorry." But I could tell he wasn't sorry. It was all I could do not to have a breakdown. I haven't been in the best shape emotionally lately. I said I wanted to go home and not to his house because I wanted to clean up for Mom before she got home. Dad went into his fit about the cats. Once again. "You need to do something about those litterboxes. The stink" I told him I just changed them; he either didn't hear me over his own whining or he didn't care about what I had to say. He continued: "It's not good for you guys to be breathing that in all the time, you're going to get asthma or something. You know? It's disgusting, you walk in the door and it reeks. It knocks you out."
No, it doesn't. It doesn't stink. I change the litter boxes. I'm so sick of him bitching about everything. And I'm the only one he bitches at. He hates cats. He complained when we first got them. And now he's complaining, even after he and Mom are divorced, and he doesn't have to live with them? He barely helps us out. We have just enough money to eat and get the things we need to live. I'm so grateful towards Grandma and Grandpa, because they bought us this nice house and we can live comfortably. It's not clean a lot of the time, and I'm working harder to help out. But Dad has absolutely NO right to criticize us about the way we live. He owes Katie $500 dollars for her doctors bills when she was practically dying. He won't pay it. He says he doesn't have the money. Then he buys 12 bottles of wine. And takes Betsy and I to 6 Flags. AND he's offering to buy us a new computer. What the hell? Excuse my language today, but this is all really getting to me.
I don't understand how he can be such an ass all the time. And after all his complaining and criticizing on the way home, he started talking to me about coming over and having a nice dinner and helping him work on the floors in the house because he's moving to London in August. He says I still owe him 5 hours of work. Because I asked him to pay half of what I owed for my Earth Science book (one of the cats tried to make it into a bed...) which was only $25. He spent hundreds of dollars on me so that I could go on the French trip to Quebec. And never asked a damn thing of me. But now, when he'll get something out of it, he tells me I have to work for him for 5 hours?!
And a lot of the stuff he did in the past, not only to me, but to my brother and sisters, and of course my mom...it blows my mind. The one day of my childhood that really stands out, the one that I remember most clearly, is the day that Mom took us and left him. I've gone through it so much in my mind that I'm sick of thinking about it. But it's mostly what I remember. It's like I've repressed a lot of my childhood memories.
All of this is too much to handle...