tittie fucking waah

A couple weeks later, my life changed drastically. My mom lost it. We had been living in a house with no electricity for a week. She never had a job, see, and someone had ripped off 1200 dollars from her while we had left town. Since all she had ever done was sell drugs, she was bankrupt. My mom’s tweeker cousin Allen had had a garage sale while we were gone and sold all of our stuff to the whole neighborhood. Our couch was in the neighbor’s house…it was fuckin weird. I still don’t know all of the circumstances there, and I don’t really think I need to. She called my dad and told him to come pick us up. He showed up on a Saturday. I didn’t even know he was coming. He packed our things in a U-Haul and took us out of our lives. It was a very hard transition for all of us. We had gone to visit every other weekend for the last four years, but the last time my dad had had an active role in our life was when I was nine years old. Nine is a whole other world from thirteen and I was used to my mom’s permissive style of parenting (if you want to call it parenting). My dad was on the exact opposite of the spectrum with his disciplinarian dictatorship. My opinion was not valued as it once had been. I was so angry at my mom. She was a complete failure. We moved into my dad’s studio apartment - me, Amanda, and my brother Russel, who was five at the time, and his new girlfriend, Debbie. Dad had never had a girl friend. I liked her instantly. I had been uprooted from my whole life with no notice. I didn’t get to say good bye to anyone. I was M.I.A. She cared. She had to drive us to school in the mornings. There was only two weeks left in the school year and I cried every day. I was so angry that I couldn’t make a friend. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home. Debbie didn’t make me go to school those two weeks. She would give me cigarettes and smoke a bowl with me once in awhile. All behind my Dad’s back, of course…or over his face, rather, since he slept on the floor right below the chair in that studio apartment. She saw that I wasn’t your average kid and treated me the way I was accustomed to being treated- like an adult. Without her the transition would have been much harder. But it didn’t last. My dad drove her away with his drunken assholishness a few months later. We stayed friends after that, and I would go visit her at the house she shared with her new husband. I was depressed. I was mad at him for running off the only decent woman who had been foolish enough to co-habitate with him. She understood me. Her mother had run off on her when she was 13, and her dad had married a 26 year old girl. We had a lot of common feelings with common roots. I lost track of her when I left Albany at 16. My dad still lives there. Living in the alcoholic daily grind was hard. My dad’s mood would change instantly. We would be joking around one minute and he’d be in a rage the next. He didn’t throw things, or beat on us, but he would look at you with those cold blue eyes like you were the lowest, most pitiful and powerless form of shit on the earth. It hurt. He would give advance permission to us to do whatever we planned and then be drunk two days later and wait till we were on our way out the door to accuse us of lying about things he had said….stuff like that. He’d give you a half hour to ride your bike 26 blocks to your friend’s house. That’s 30 minutes total. At that time, my hurt all translated into anger, of course. I had an attitude like ‘who in the hell are you to treat me like this’. I wrote a lot then, y’know, those dark, death and curses poems that your parents send you to a psychologist if they stumble across. Really, I never would have killed him in his sleep, I just liked writing about it sometimes. Anger is a very motivating emotion. Anger, mixed with the natural anxiety and urgency all teenagers feel, was my most reliable muse. I could write forever about how fucked up everything was. I am not so angry anymore. My mom has been selfish and stupid and emotionally neglectful at times throughout my life, but I know she loves me, and I know she’s sorry and has to live with her own demons. The same with Dad. It’s not my place to punish them anymore. I used to feel that way….especially with my mom, because her weakness had put me in the place I was in. If she had only tried harder, got a fucking job or something, I could have had it easier. I punished her for about three years. I refused to call her ‘mom’ or return her letter or take her calls. She took all of it gracefully. She never gave up even when I lashed out. I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me. When she said I love you I said I hate you. I took advantage of every opportunity to make her heart bleed. She did the right thing. She never stopped telling me she loved me and didn’t give up. Then she apologized and took responsibility. She didn’t make excuses, she took responsibility for things the way I saw them, from where I stood. That was the only way I could forgive her. And in my adult life, I have come to see things differently. I realized that my mom was stronger than I thought. After all, she left my dad, which was a pretty scary endeavor, I’m sure. Not only because she had never really worked or provided but because my dad was a control freak, and she was taking his control away.So living with my dad was hard for all of us, including him. At one point we started going to family counseling. In the beginning, the sessions focused mainly on me. I was pretty difficult. I felt like I needed justice or something. My dad made it out to the counselor gal that I was a troubled teenager who was disrupting what would otherwise be some harmonious family life. But as the time went on, she began to shift the focus to him. As the focus of the conversations shifted from the what (my behavior) to the why ( his alcoholism), he decided we were cured or something and we quit going to counseling. I think he let me win in some subtle way. I started spending the weekdays 50 miles away in McMinnville at an older girlfriends house to watch her kids, and going home on the weekends. We just got along better that way. My grandma (maternal) would come from McMinnville where she also lived, to the counseling sessions and just sit and listen. She and my dad have been friends, and my dad has a lot of respect for her. She helped talk my dad into letting me go. She never told him how to act, and didn’t talk badly of him, but she would commiserate with me on the rides back to McMinnville after a session about how hard it is to live with an alcoholic, and suggest ways to avoid aggravating him. Sounds sick and twisted when it’s put into words, but even though my dad was a dick and all, he loved us, and he wasn’t terrible all the time. The trouble was in predicting his moods and reactions. He always acted like such an unhappy person. I didn’t think of it that way at the time, but looking back, I can see how unhappy he was.My grandma had to pick me up from the police station one time cause I stole some makeup from the PayLess. She never told my dad about it. I paid the fine and the restitution. I was terrified that she would say exactly what she did: “ I am very disappointed in you.” That’s the worst thing she could say. It doesn’t matter what I do, she doesn’t judge. She’s just a wonderful person like that. She drove me back to the PayLess to pick up my car, and we never spoke of it again. Needless to say, that was the first time I got caught, and the last time I shoplifted.I dropped out of school in the first semester of my sophomore year. I had no credits and only one class every other day- counselors aide. My counselor, Debbie Fifield, was a wonderful lady. She knew my whole story and I guess she felt sorry for me. Her daddy had been a drunk, too. I think that maybe ‘drunk’ is the wrong way to describe my dad. It seems like drunks are complete losers who don’t work. My dad has always worked hard. He is fortunate enough to make the max for unemployment so when he's laid off he can afford to be. Anyway, my dad punished me for four months after I left school. See, you have to be 16 to sign the dropout papers, and I was still four months from my 16th birthday. Ms. Fifield let my dad sign and let me go early, though. I had to wait till I was 16 to take the GED test. Unfortunately for me, my dad was laid off at the time, and always home. I wasn’t allowed to check the mail even. I had to clean the house and all, and do the laundry for my dad and brother, but I wasn’t always allowed to do my own laundry there. He made me go to the laundrymat a couple times. Fuckin weird, huh? I guess in his mind he was showing me how hard it was to pay your way, which was what I had to do now if I wasn’t going to go to school. After my birthday, I got a job at the Burgerville for a couple months. I bought my own car, and started talking with my mom more. She was living in Sisters, Oregon, right over the mountains from me. I was done with my dad. I was scared to tell him that I was moving in with her because no one told him anything. His reaction surprised me. He said I could come home whenever I wanted. I think he was sad, but I think he was relieved as well. There was a lot of tension in that house, and with me gone , it could only get better. I never did go back there to live, as anyone could guess.