There are some things that I need to get off my chest soon and I think that if I don't do it tonight I'll explode, so even though it's 1 in the morning I'm going to write this right now anyway.
Things suck. I've been depressed, angry, alone, and no one has been there for me. My parents are either complete idiots or just don't care, because they're worse than useless. And whenever I think they're getting better (like last night, after Dad and I watched late night talkshows till 1) things deteriorate. I spent all day today trying to translate a Finnish webpage so that I could get my dad an obscure knitting pattern for his birthday, and when I went downstairs and turned off his music so I could do my chores in piece he chewed me out and wouldn't stop yelling.
They had no idea that I tried to kill myself (see the cookie dough incident). That entire day they didn't even talk to me, except to remind me of my chores. I sat in the middle of the living room gorging myself on stolen cookie dough and they went out onto the deck and got sloshed while they blasted Def Leppard or whatever shit they listen to through the speakers.
Oh, there've been plenty of cries for help--I've binge eaten whole bags of chips in one day (when they noticed at all they just laughed incredulously and hid the rest in the garage, where I found them easily). I went the whole last week of school without eating a single bite of lunch. They didn't care. Just tonight, while they were getting drunk with my Aunt Stephani, I ate a whole box of Dove chocolate ice cream bars, and my dad was so sloshed that he just went "o-ho!" and then let out a string of profanities about some colleague of theirs who "has to be fucking high."
Eventually Dad was so inebriated that he went inside and feel asleep with a guitar balanced on his stomach, while my mom and Aunt S talked about how terrible it was that some friend of theirs killed himself 20 years ago, and how they didn't stop it, they couldn't have, it must have been inevitable. Ironic.
I spent the whole night with about 5 large candles and 2 lighters, making the biggest fricking puddle of wax this side of the Atlantic, and listening to my parents' drunken ramblings about the people who are supposed to be hiring Aunt S. Meanwhile, though 1/2 the point was supposed to be her helping me plan my new room, I got about three words in the entire time.
By the end of the evening I had a nagging cough and was pretty high on sugar and smoke. Aunt S went home, leaving me to clean up after the adults. My mom got snippy then and sent me to bed.
Of course, it couldn't end there. When I flushed the toilet it started to overflow, so I had to wake Mom, who tried to fix it and made it worse--there was even leakage in the garage. She then woke my dad, who tend to be an angry drunk after too many beers and tequilas. He kept swearing at us and asking me what I had flushed. Had I taken a "massive shit?" Mom calmed him a bit and had me dry the whole bathroom. My favorite Dilbert book was nearly destroyed before I was able to get past Dad, though.
I was nearly finished when Dad swung back into angry drunk mode and cornered me, demanding to know whether I had "flushed a tampon or something." Like I would do something as stupid as that! Oh, because I'm a girl who ovulates everything MUST be MY fault. In my head I was screaming at him that he wouldn't blame me this time, that I had been the pressure valve for everything and I wasn't going to take it anymore. But I just said "no."
We all worked at fixing things a while longer, but I hate being around Dad in this state. Every time he gets drunk he goes a little farther down the bottle, and the drunker he gets the angrier he gets. Sometimes when he's like this and he looks at me I get these visions of him hitting me. He's never raised a hand against me, but his eyes tell me that there's a line somewhere that must never be crossed, and he's travelling steadily toward it.
So basically, my parents don't care about me beyond my function as chore-doer and grade-getter, I'm pretty sure I have some sort of undiagnosed mood disorder but I'm not getting help anytime soon, and my toilet's out of order. And I know my mom monitors this stuff and I could get in trouble but I honestly don't give a flying fuck anymore. Maybe it'll motivate you to actually send me to someone who can fix me, huh, Mumsy Dearest?
That's all for now, folks.