Flip Flop

My stomach feels tight today, tied in knots brought about by the knowledge of the reaction I am certain to receive for what I am about to accomplish. I am going to inform my mother of my plan to remove myself from the family home, and I am going to do this tonight after work. I am almost certain it is going to be a painful battle for both of us, and fear of this outcome is keeping me unsteady today. Work will be terrible, I know; watching the clock and understanding what each minute means. Each minute brings me closer to the battle. Each minute brings me closer to home. It is almost stage fright, what grips me. As if I know I have not rehearsed enough and my performance will be met with anger and flying fruit. More likely, other things will be flying through the air. None of them, however will be anywhere near the figurative rotten tomato. Instead, I will come out bruised and broken.

I don't want to hurt her, or damage our relationship. Nor do I want to hurt my brothers, nor my father. However, it has to happen some time, doesn't it? I can't stay here for the rest of my life. I can afford this now, and there is no reason for me to be a financial burden on them. I am certain that the thing that will throw a wrench in the workings will be the fact that I am still taking my vacation. It will seem as though this is the only reason for leaving. It will seem as though I do not like them. No matter how I try to explain that this is not the case, my mother will latch on to this.

I just hope it goes well.

Plans? What Plans?

I feel as if I'm in a funk. Not quite depressed. Just not all there. I have a tightness in my chest and a nearly permanent scowl that I just can't shake without effort. I find myself lost in thought nearly all the time, and most of the time I can't recall quite what I was thinking about when I'm startled from my reverie. I can't quite put my finger on the source of the issue, though.

I did not end up going hiking with the boyfriend, nor did I spend the weekend with him as I planned. I was in trouble, as seems to be the natural state of things anymore. I don't quite remember what I did, so apparently it wasn't all that important. It was probably about spending my free time with him. It usually is.

Friday night was spent with him, as it usually is, performing some dork-ish rite with him and the majority of his friends, or at least the regular ones. Saturday morning I came home and relaxed, excited at the prospect of the evening my parents had planned. All week my mother had been talking about having a "family night," but inviting my boyfriend and my brother's girlfriend to join us. She said that it was about time that we started including other people. I was thrilled; the plans were made. The time I spent at work dragged on, and I seemed to move at super-speed as I tried to rush the day along. This, I thought, was going to be a blast! As soon as work was over, however, I flipped my phone on and rushed to the car, only to find a text message from my mother. It said that what he said yesterday on our hike with the boys really hurt them, and that he was no longer welcome in her home. It told me, again, that I had to make a choice.

It turns out that he made a comment about feces on his shoe, something snarky about "I wonder where this came from," which we both giggled about. I made a joke to the effect of "so that's why you don't like coming over." The boys heard this joke, and brought it to my mother's attention over dinner. So, of course, her first response is "you must choose." I don't quite understand why she has to demand a choice every time she gets miffed at him. He was uninvited, and "family time" ended up " Mom, Dad, and Liv" time. The boys and the girlfriend disappeared.

I did talk to Mom about the situation, however. I kept my cool and tried to explain that I didn't think the boyfriend meant anything by the comment, that the issues were solely his sense of humor and nothing more. She seemed to take this to heart, and it looks like the crisis was averted. Though I'm not sure about whether or not he's invited to the house ever again, at least there wasn't yelling and that sort of thing.

When I told the boyfriend about what happened today, though, as we laid on the couch, he made no comment at first. Instead, he frowned and tried to pretend he wasn't. I have a feeling that he was upset by this, if only slightly, that his feelings were hurt. I moved on with the story, making him crack a smile and laugh a little as I continued, and then I changed the subject. However, he changed it back abruptly, and the first thing that came out of his mouth about the issue was "I think it's because of your 'that's why you don't come over' comment." This bothered me, quite frankly. I was hurt that the first thing he said about the subject promptly pointed the finger cleanly at me, without taking any responsibility about the situation for himself. I'm well aware that everything is my fault, I do not need his help accepting this. I would have appreciated it if he hadn't made the comment. I want his honesty, yes, but I don't think that was necessary. Even so, it was said. I responded with "Yes, I know it's all my fault. But thanks for pointing that out, hun." There was no argument, just a nod, and he moved on with the conversation. I excused myself, citing that I needed to go home.

I'm frustrated.

Update

I talk and talk about moving out now, threatening anyone who'll listen. Of course, with the exception of my parents. Yet, for all of my threats, I am still staying at home here. Just the idea of calling a place that doesn't house the rest of my family my home is unsettling. It's scary, as I've said time and time again, and I can't quite get over that hump. I'm afraid that I will make a mistake. I am afraid that I won't be able to survive on my own, and I don't want to lean on anyone else. I want to be independent. I just don't know what to do; I keep going back and forth. In all reality, I am not sure why I can't just make a decision. Why can I not get over my fear in this instance?

In spite of my confusion, I received some wonderful news yesterday. I've been accepted at college! I am going to start my vet tech program in the fall. I can hardly wait. I want to get everything all set up and done. I am so thrilled I can hardly see straight. On top of that, there are work-study programs that the school of my choice offers. These programs have salaries starting at a $0.50 raise from my current salary, and 10-20 hours a week guaranteed, in fact required. That is just about exactly what I was looking for. It would be ideal to get a job that will be flexible with my school schedule, and also pay gobs more than I already make. Of course, I doubt that I'll actually qualify. However, it is worth a shot.

I'm going hiking tomorrow with the boyfriend. At least I hope so. Every time we've planned a trip like this, something has gone wrong. The last time it happened, my car got broken in to. So we shall see. Other than that, though, I'm planning on staying the entire weekend with him for the first time. Kind of a test run for moving in, perhaps? I can hardly base the entire idea on a single weekend, of course, and especially one with a week like we've had. We have hardly seen each other, it seems. At least, though, I'll know for sure how well I can use the restroom for more pressing issues. I am sure that makes no sense to you, but I know what I mean, and it is a big obstacle for moving anywhere with someone else.

Cross your fingers for me!

A Short Post?!

My mother and I sat down and talked about Brian and the pow-wow more in depth the other day. She shocked me even more than before. He is, she says, a very nice man. She can tell that he really cares about me just by the way he talks about me. One of her biggest points against him was his claim to be a virgin when he met me. She now says that, though she still doesn't believe in his virginity, she things that he at least wishes he was. We were talking about something, I can't remember what it was, and I was busy trying to be smart about the situation, degrading it and spouting disbelief. "I try so hard to be cynical." I chuckled. Mom turned to me then with a strange look in her eyes, "I know you do. You're going to be. But he'll be around for a while, and you'll start to learn not to. You'll be cynical less and less until, eventually, you'll forget why you were even cynical in the first place." I felt all teary-eyed at that statement. I'm not sure exactly what he said that changed her mind so thoroughly, but whatever it was, it worked.

He came to our Independence Day "party." It was interesting; relaxed, even slightly awkward, but interesting. It went well. I was thrilled to have my family together, and to have Brian there with me. Mom took a few pictures, one of which is my new display picture. He's been invited to cake and ice cream on my birthday, too. Yay! We'll see how that goes.

Pow-Wow

The meeting went well according to all parties involved. Or, three out of four. Brian came to see my parents, and my brother Scott was present for the conversation. Though I haven't spoken to my brother, both of my parents said that the conversation went well. Neither seemed too terribly thrilled at this; both begrudgingly admitted that it went "just fine," my mother topping off the awkwardness as she intoned, refusing to glance at me, that "he really loves [me]."

My mother has said that I may stay out until 1am if I'm coming home. Fridays and Saturdays, though, I'm allowed to disappear all night long. My parents seem happier with the situation now that they've talked to him, at least. My mother even invited Brian to the 4th of July "celebration," in spite of the fact that it may not even occur on the 4th. We'll see how all of that works out, I suppose.

I'm still not sure about moving out at this point. Yes, I would like to be free. I wonder, though; can I? Not only because I'm worried about my ability to live, but because I'm worried about my family. Can I hurt them that way? They would all be hurt, especially if it's my choice. Even so, I'm meeting with Marc on Thursday evening.

I was worried that, given with my parents have said, things would be awkward with Brian. I worried that they just wouldn't feel right like they used to. This is both because what my parents said is deeply disturbing to me and my morals, and because they pointed out things that I can neither prove nor disprove. Brian is not about to admit to lying, whether he is or not. However, as soon as I got there, things were fine. We just fit together. It's awesome! Yet again, I didn't realize just how much I missed him until I had him again. Not that it wasn't difficult, don't misunderstand. However, I didn't realize just how much until I was snuggled up next to him again.

Ain't No Party Like My Nana's Tea Party

Well, technically speaking I am allowed to see Brian again. My parents have said that nothing's going to change in just two days, and that it was never a requirement but a request on their part. Funny, it really seemed like a requirement. But, that is a moot point.

Brian is going to sit down with my parents tomorrow to "air it all out" with them. This will happen with him alone while I am at work. My father wants me to be present so that I can see what kind of man Brian is. My mother says she doesn't want me there, she's going to record the situation so that I can hear what he's like when I'm not around. I'm worried about the entire situation. It seems like they're setting this up for failure. I'm worried that they're going to attack Brian, or that Brian will attack them. Either way, the situation will not end well. I'm worried I won't have a relationship with Brian when it's all over, or that my relationship with my parents will be severely damaged enough that they're not going to want to talk to me anymore. I'm afraid of losing.

I feel selfish for wanting both. I feel selfish for being angry that I seem to be made to choose. I understand what my parents are saying to an extent, and I can easily see how the situation scares them. It has been nearly a complete 180 since I met Brian; from being around all the time no matter what to never being home. When I am home, I don't talk to them about what happened at Brian's. They blame him. They say he is taking me away from them. I honestly feel like they're just afraid of losing me. They're afraid of me growing up. Brian only enters in to this in that he is the reason I'm never home. Therefore, he is the enemy. However, that does not make me feel any better about the situation.

Their attacks on him do scare me more than I was. Especially when I am trying so hard to act in spite of my fear of the situation, to put myself out there and hope I don't get completely trampled. In all honesty, though, mostly it is just driving me to want to spend more time with him. Whether it's a lie or not, it's far simpler than home life at this point to spend all my time running around with him. He compliments me, takes care of me, and we both enjoy doing and talking about the same things. We can be complete silly dorks together, and it is infectious; made even moreso with the overwhelming seriousness and depression that pervades my family. Someone is always sick or dying, someone is always depressed or having a hard time, and it is enjoyable to not have to think about that. When I'm with him, I don't think about any of it.

Granted, the situation is probably unhealthy. What relationship isn't? I certainly have never had one. As I told my parents; even if he is lying to me, even if this is a horrendously unhealthy situation, it makes me happy now. He's not hitting me, he's not raping me, he's not yelling at me or calling me names. I enjoy the time I choose to spend with him immensely. The situation, even if it is all falsities, even if he's simply using me and making fun of me behind my back (which, though I didn't tell them this, I don't believe), it is worth it to me right now. My mom claims that this situation is so much worse than anything I've faced ever before. Those words cut me to the core. I worry that she's right. At the same time, though, I have to take it with a grain of salt; she's scared she's going to lose me to him, and she's going to do everything in her power to keep me here, I think.

At this point, however, I worry that my parents will use things I said (and things I didn't) against me when they talk to Brian tomorrow. Will they lie to throw him off? Will they bait him? Or will they give him a fair chance? What if he doesn't give them a chance? What if he is as bad as they say, or he hauls off and has a conniption fit? What if he throws things in their faces that I've told him in confidence? What if, by the end of the day, I've lost everything? I'm so nervous I could vomit.

I'll be working. It is going to be the longest day! There will be nothing to do but spin my wheels about the meeting my parents and my boyfriend are going to stage. I'll worry about the stories I'm going to get when I get home from both sides. I worry about the "recording." I worry that my parents will prove themselves completely right, that they'll prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Brian is everything they've said he was, and that there will be no way for me to refute that he is, in fact, a liar. That I've placed my trust, yet again, in someone who doesn't deserve it. I've asked both to call the store afterward to tell me how it goes. Both will, hopefully not at the same time. Unless something goes seriously wrong, of course, at which point I will promptly freak right the hell out. I want so badly for them to get along; I want my parents to like Brian, and I want Brian to like them. However, I don't see it happening.

This is going to be bad.

Ping Pong

If you told me six months ago that I'd be moving out, I would have told you that you are a liar. If you would have told me that my parents would hate my boyfriend and force me to choose, I would have told you that you didn't understand the kind of connection my family has. It's a good thing no one warned me; this would have been even more frustrating than it already is.

I don't know where I am, right now. All of this feels alien to me, a new world. Parental distrust and disagreement is not something I ever dealt with growing up. If they had an issue, I would bend over backward to make it better and redeem myself in their eyes. This is the first situation, I do believe, in which I have not given up everything at the drop of a hat for them. They told me that they didn't approve of my relationship, I basically told them "Tough cookies." In a much kinder more eloquent way, I assure you, but tough cookies nonetheless. The more I think about the situation, the more I can see how they say I've changed.

I'm a stronger person, much to their befuddlement. I am not afraid to tell them that I'm making my own choices. "I understand how you feel, but..." type of a thing. Yes, I do suppose I've made some bad ones (read: making myself sick at the hospital). However, I also feel I've learned from them. I know better now how to handle myself without guidance from my parents. I also can disagree with them without even the slightest blush on my face. I'm unashamed that my opinions differ, where before I would spout my opinion as the same whether they approved or not. I am certain that, between me not being at home and being more secure in my own opinions, beliefs, and feelings while I am home, they do see a change in me. Perhaps it is a change they don't like. I feel better as a person for it, though. I feel happier in general.

This is not to say that I don't need my parents, or my family. I love them, and I can't imagine living without them, if only because I never have. I want them to be a part of the new chapter of my life. I want to be able to talk to them. But, at the same time, I can't stay here. I can't be told how to live my life.

Is it wrong of me to feel like a spoiled child for all of this? I'm so confused, I keep going back and forth. I think the biggest thing is that I'm terrified of failure. I'm terrified that I'll have to move back home. I'm scared that, when he dumps me, I won't be able to handle it and I'll have to admit that I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was. I feel prepared for it, but what if?

I'm just so confused.

Salt

It's been four months since Mr. Sick and I got together. Four months and five days, and I'm not sure that we'll be together much longer, and it is all my fault. Yet, I'm not sure I'm as hurt by this as I should be. Is it that I'm certain he'll be there when I get back?

Yesterday I had plans to take my brothers out to a movie with Brian and to get Father's Day cards. We never made it to the movie. My car broke down out front of the card store. My parents didn't answer the phone when I called, but Brian did. He came and waited with me for the tow truck, and drove me home afterward. My entire family met him. Hallelujah, right? However, they severely disliked him. Regardless, they were polite while we were there.

I ended up going to his house and staying the night so he could take me to work in the morning. My father fixed my car (as it turned out, it was merely a lack of oil), but I stayed at Brian's house anyway. I spent the majority of the evening at his apartment alone, studying and playing WoW. Then we stayed up late together after he got home.

This morning I awoke with a dizzy spell. It was bad enough that I could hardly stand without swaying on my feet and falling over. So, I called in sick. I told Brenda that I'd be in at noon, if she wanted, and I thought she told me not to worry about it; that she would call Sheree and there wouldn't be a problem. I was wrong. Even so, I shut off my phone and spent the day relaxing. We had a great time. When I turned my phone on at three-thirty, though, I had two voicemails and two text messages. One was from Brenda at work asking where I was. The other was from my mother. She bit off the words "Get home. Now." I texted her, and then called.

She picked up the phone with screams of "Where are you?" and "Are you aware of how many people you have freaked out today?" Understandable, of course, with my complete lack of contact. The store had called my house phone and, of course, this happens to be the time my mother answers. She said that all the ladies at work were freaking out, and that my parents had been to every hospital in the city worrying that I had been in an accident or something. She demanded Brian's phone number and address, telling me that she was going to come get me. I was hoping that, by denying her this, I was helping the situation. Maybe Brian wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Yeah, not quite.

Brian pulled up in front of my house and my mother was out the door, flinging herself down the hill in front of our house with a cigarette in hand, hair flying, and pure hatred in her eyes. She opened the door and yanked me out of the car with a shriek, bending over and squalling at Brian in her frustration and fear, demanding to know if he was prepared to care for me, if he was going to marry me. He told her yes, if he needed to care for me he could and, if things continued to go well, he would marry me. I could do nothing but stand behind her and stare mutely at my feet as she called him sick and told him that he already had a chance to live his young life and I hadn't had that chance.

She finally slammed the car door and told me to get in the house. I called back that it wasn't his fault, and she snapped at me to stop defending him. Once inside, she screamed at me about how scared she was (rightfully so) and how horrible Brian is. She told me he'd get bored with me, that he'd leave and be fine. Once he's done with school, she said, he's going to either run off with someone else or be ready to settle down. She said she was worried I'd give up my life for him. I can understand that, as well, I suppose. Both of my parents lectured me on how horrible a person he is, and continued to tell me I was ruining my life and that the relationship was sick. They told me that they hated him, and that I was just rationalizing when I explained my reasoning. They said that I'd lost track of what I wanted in life, and blamed Brian. The issues they keep bringing up, though, were before Brian. They just had no name for them, and they refuse to blame me.

At first they forbade me from seeing him, my mother crying out that I had to make my choice; either leave him or leave home. My father began, and my mother agreed, that I should "at least" take a break. Two weeks, they've said, with no contact with him, during which time I am to seriously consider what it is I want from life. I've conceded this point, and conceded that he will not stay. I am not completely stupid after all, and I know I'm not worth much to most. Even so, should Brian decide he doesn't want me by the end of the two weeks I will leave it alone. But if he still wants me, and they still have an issue, away I go. I have places to go, and it's not just about Brian. It's about freedom.

So why do I feel like such a moron? Like such an angsty and unreasonable teenager?

Wisdom Teeth

It's been nearly three months with Mr. Sick, and I have spent every moment I possibly can with him. He's been out of the hospital for a while now, and in nearly perfect health, with the exception of the aftermath of his wisdom teeth removal yesterday. He asked me to drive him to and from. I didn't realize the care involved when I agreed, but I know I would have agreed even if I had known. Why would I not?

However, upon coming home, my father decided to accost me nearly straight through the doorway. On his way out, he turned to me and wagged his finger, telling me that I have to be more careful. He cited my tendency to leap into situations like this, telling me that I was again treating the boyfriend like a puppy, as my mother complained while I was with him during his second hospital trip. My father told me that I was going to get hurt, and said that he didn't want to have to deal with it. He softened to tell me that I was a giving person, and that he didn't want me giving too much, to which I replied that all I gave was reciprocated. He shook his head and complained that Mr. Sick was not there when I had all the work done on my mouth in December, January, and February. I quickly pointed out that Mr. Sick did not, in fact, even know I existed then, let alone that I was having work done on my mouth and could've used a friendly shoulder. I kept to myself that it was not as if my father was there at any but one of those appointments, as if he had to pick up where the boyfriend slacked off. He was working or playing video games while I drove myself to and from the appointments. Therefore, it was really not something that he had any right to complain about. I also neglected to mention that my boyfriend at the time, one who my father liked, refused to go with me upon the suggestion of a request. Regardless, however, I simply ended up telling my father that he did not know Mr. Sick, he had never met the man and therefore had no right to pass judgement on him. My father conceded as I began to cry and stepped over to hug me to his chest until I told him that he had done a good job.

I told him that I wasn't stupid enough to believe that this guy would stay. I'm not. I hold no illusions that he will stay where everyone else has left. I hold no illusions that anyone will stay. But, as I told my father this morning, I can't live my life in fear of the inevitable pain. I've seen what it does, I've tried to. I can't do it. I told him, too, that I am scared enough on my own of the guillotine that every relationship ends up. I do not need his help being unsure. I told him that I did not understand why he and my mother can't seem to just be happy for me because I am happy with this man for now.

I wonder to myself: is it because I'm never home anymore? Is it fear at the idea of me leaving? Is my father's blow up last night in any way related to my mother's somber mood today? Is he just stressed? My brother has told me that he has gotten worse and worse with his random explosions.

I told my boyfriend about what my father said, about what happened, and told him that staying the weekend was not going to happen because of it. I am worried that I've upset him. I don't want him to worry. Also, I have to admit, I don't want him to throw his hands up and say "Oh no, I am done with this." I'm expecting it any day, and dreading it at the same time. I've been insecure before, but this past week has been horrendous as far as worry is concerned. I am unsure why this is. Could it just be hormones? I am fairly sure that I'll be starting my period soon, and that most likely accounts for my inability to let my father's words go. Maybe it is the insecurity as well, because Mr. Sick makes me ridiculously happy. There is no reason for me to leave him, so all I can do is worry he's leaving me.

Funny how the title only enters here once, isn't it?

Here It Goes Again.

My boyfriend is in the hospital. Again. This is the second time in the past week he has been incapacitated. Again, I am terrified, for no real reason. His condition is not life-threatening at this point, and he is where he can best be helped. Yet I am still unable to sleep yet again, and eating is a far more complicated thing than it needs to be. But, I digress. I will start at the beginning and work my way forward.

When his mom first gave him my number, he did not call me straight away. He was admitted to the hospital before he had the chance for intense pain in his abdomen. He was "violently ejecting everything from both ends." They just gave him some pain meds at this point and sent him home, citing indigestion as the problem. I did not hear from him for nearly a month after that. Last Saturday I ended up having to work instead of going to hang out with him right away. I was expecting a phone call around 11:30, after he gets off work as is usual. Standing in my kitchen at 8:30, my phone vibrates and screams at me, and it is him on the other end. I made a joke about him calling me early and he made a weak joke about it being bed-time, moving onward to ask me inane questions about how my day went, completely ignoring me when I shot questions back to him. I, of course, made a comment with a giggle about him ignoring me. He responded with a stutter and weak explanation. He was in the ER, the pain he had before we met was back.

He was admitted that night, and an MRI on Monday revealed gallstones to be the culprit. Some of them having migrated to the bileduct, they put him under for an endoscopic procedure to remove those before a complete gallbladder removal on Tuesday. One, however, was left behind with a shunt. It had become embedded, and there was too much swelling and infection to do anything about it at that point. Tuesday they did end up removing the gallbladder, and said that 3/4 of the organ was stone, and it was infected nearly to the point of gangrene. How he did not feel this, everyone is mystified. Regardless, he was allowed to leave Thursday.

I was with him every moment I could be Thursday and Friday, and he was getting better rapidly. I was sure he was on the mend. I had to work Saturday, and by the time I got home and called him, he was in the ER again and in rather copious amounts of pain. He asked me to come see him. When I got there, he was alone, and seemed fairly well. In pain, yes, but he was dealing with it. He was happy to see me. The doctor came in and was talking to him about the issues, asking questions about the pain. She laid him down to feel his abdomen, and sat him back up as she left. You could see it on his face. It was all over. From that point on, all he could do was lay there, sweating and shaking, blinking his eyes open to frown at me every once in a while. There were tests, and a liter of liquid to dump down his throat. He cried and grunted at times, but for the most part he was silent and sweating. The pain meds they gave him barely helped at all, and by the time he was admitted and I left, he was pale and silent.

As it turns out, the shunt had slipped, blocking the bileduct and building pressure once again. All I want to do is scream at the doctors, to help him feel better. But, they are doing the best they can do, and there is nothing I can do to change that, or to help him. I hate this. I just want him better, I want things to go back to normal. But, that is life, I suppose. Things rarely go the way we want them to, and there is not a damn thing anyone can do about it. At least he won't die. I just want him to be better right now.

The next time I see him half naked and sweating it had better be a good thing.

So, it is now February. The month is winding down. I've gone through one boyfriend, and am stuck on the second in the span of a month and a half. Yes, two. I'm a slut. The second, though, is online again, and will not last long. He's not quite what I'm looking for in another human being. He seems to embody all the bad parts about my father, and doesn't really have the good parts to make up for it.

Y'know, so much is going on, and I can't even begin to know how to word it all. I sit down to write, and all I get are snippets of non-coherent thought, even during stories. My brain is moving too fast...or maybe too slow. I don't know. All I know is I want it over and done with.