[protected post] Nov. 4th, 2007
* 8:58 PM
I don't want to own my past. I don't want to sift and feel and relive the memories in my mind, in my heart. In my nose and in my ears when I smell stale beer and cigarette's, and hear sad wailing Patsy Cline or Bob Seger. I look back and feel so much sadness for the lost little girl that grew up watching out the window for someone to come and save her. For someone to come home and feed her. For someone to give a damn. I should have been put in a god damned foster home. I don't want to see the pictures of my mothers ex-husbands, our sad little existence in tackily decorated party halls, ashtrays on table, holding prized bottles of tequila, cognac. I am lucky to be alive for the shame and humiliation she put me through, the lies, the deceit. My inheritance of her disease of the mind, her inability to feel appropriate, to covet and cherish my relationships.. my thirst for self destruction.. my hatred. My addictions, and my ridiculous pride. The battle against nothing. Shadows of whispers in the night.
I put you away, memories. I'm just not ready to deal. It can be fiction for now, for my own protection.