Things like this aren't supposed to ruin one's life. So why does it look like they're beginning to ruin mine? I don't see any other way to avoid conflict, to avoid more pain every time I look at him. Leaving seems like my only option, but once I'm gone, I will never return. I cannot look back and wish that things hadn't gone the way they did because there's nothing I can do to change things. I am unaccepted and uninvited in the house that I am now held captive to (to a certain extent). I don't feel right here anymore, I feel dirty. I feel like I'm constantly rolling in a pile of shit, therefore making it nearly impossible to get the stench off of my body. Yes, I it is my fault. Yes, I created my own havoc. There will be no yearning for tomorrow here...just wishing and despising the way that things are/will be. This is my life. This is my hell. I feel like I'm dying all over again. But this time it's more painful because it's not only affecting me, but him as well. Whenever I come in contact with him, I can't make eye contact and I just can't do anything because I know I'm wrong in every which way possible. It's just really fucking unfortunate that things turned out this way. Real unfortunate.

*You* haven't told them yet...the anticipation is agonizing. *Your* house will become yet another familiar place that I will not be accepted. I'm happy that *you're* out having a good time with the boys(?). Things are difficult right now, and sometimes I feel that my emotions are flip-flopping around too much. I am fine when I'm not at home. I am happy when I am with *you*. But it can't always be that way, my eutopia. I guess I'm "grounded" for the first time in years...at 18, at a legal fucking age, I've managed to get a curfew and restrictions that were never there before slapped on my back. The weight is enough to sink a battleship, and it is crushing me. Escape is what I need.



4:01 A.M.
The worst noises come from the rabbit at night when she is scraping the bottom of her thick plastic cage. Then I hear the knawing of the shelf sit rests on...it's an uncomfortable feeling...make it stop.




10:28 P.M.
I don't know why I even bother...I don't know why they're even bothering with me. There are these short-lived, rushed conversations between us that are so incredibly awkward that I'd rather they not take place at all. Things are great, until I come home. All hell breaks loose, and I want nothing more than to leave and never come back.