I've gone back and forth with the idea of making my previous post my final post, and leaving blogging. But, for now at least, I think I'll hang around a little longer. While the Thoughts site, and Thoughts family, that I once loved is seemingly gone now, I reminded myself that blogging, for me at least, has never been about gaining attention from people I'll most likely never meet. It's never been about gaining sympathy, or how many "views" a post may get. It's not about whether or not a post gets a comment. The concept behind this has always been it's simply a place where I can express everything and anything on my mind without those around me ever finding out (aside from Victor, of course). And as long as I can still freely do that, has anything really changed? This will probably be a hella long post, but oh well.
This past week things transpired that I still don't even feel like I ever want to discuss. All I've wanted to do since the incident is curl up in my dark room and stay there until something magically changes. Or just stay curled up on Marilyn's couch in the sunroom talking with Ashley and Marilyn. Which is weird to me, it's weird to me that the idea of talking to Marilyn and Ashley feels like it'd give me some sort of comfort. The idea of talking to Marilyn isn't what I find weird, we talk all the time, it's the idea of talking to Ash about it. I love Ashley dearly, she's not just the mom I nanny for. In a lot of ways I look at her as a responsible older sister who actually has her life together (as much as a person can, of course), which is more than I can say for my actual sister. But Ash and I have never talked like Marilyn and I have. I know that's because she's working in the office all day while I'm in and out with the boys, therefore there's not a lot of chances to actually talk about serious stuff. I mean with Marilyn, sometimes we'll take the boys (since it's summer I get Timothy and Benjamin three days a week!) to run errands so we're always talking about something. So that's a communication channel that's been open for awhile. And even though Ash told me almost a year ago that her home is always open if I just wanted to hang out there and get away from my house for a little bit, that line of communication has never really been there with her.
I'm rambling, aren't I? Most people have probably stopped scanning/reading by this point.
So for as long as I can remember my brat of a, now 17yr old, brother has always had a problem of sneaking into my room, and bathroom, when I'm not home and stealing things. And because of his Kleinfeltor's, my freaking Dad has always acted like nothing within our family dynamic in regards to my brother is wrong and issues pertaining to my brother's behavior aren't really issues. So anytime the brat gets in "trouble", the only thing that happens is Dad yells his head off, I usally end up having a panic attack or leave the house while he's doing so, and no real punishment is ever given. About a month ago I went to pull out my phone with the shatter screen to get something off of it only to discover it was now gone. I knew exactly where I had placed the phone so I knew it wasn't an issue of "misplacement". I also discovered my gameboy was missing. Again, I knew exactly where I had placed it. I realize I'm 22 and in college and it's stupid to get pissed about a missing gameboy, but the point is I knew exactly where it was supposed to be and it was no longer there. I had no doubt whatsoever in my mind that my brother had taken my stuff yet again. So when Dad came home I told him about it, and explained that I needed that phone back to get something off of it and that I was also sick of the little brother getting away with everything. Well that pissed him off and he started yelling at me saying I'd better not go around accusing people of stealing if I'm not 100% sure of it. I told him, calmly I might add, that due to prior history I was 100% certain that he had taken my stuff. When Dad asked him about the stolen items he of course denied it, because he's a lying little shit, and then Dad started screaming at me again and told me if I didn't like the way he did things then I could "get my ass out of his house". I got over it though, and moved on. Until last Tuesday.
Last Tuesday they both went out of town. I had the day off since the boys are in a summer pre-school program on Tuesday/Thursday, and with my Mom's blessing I decided to go on a re-con mission to locate my stuff in the brat's room. To say it was disgusting in there is putting it mildly, Haz-mat needs to seal that room off. Old food, drinks, trash, torn apart electronics everywhere (he thinks he's going ot get rich by stripping copper now), no wonder he never sleeps in there. I didn't go through much, it was impossible to move around in there, and anything that I moved I made sure I put back in the right place. And boy did I find a lot. The more stuff of mine I found in there, the more pissed I got and finally had to walk away. I finally shelled out the money to have my teeth checked and cleaned by a dentist after like 8 years, and after doing that I spent $60 on whitening strips. I thought I had gone through the box oddly fast, but didn't think too much of it. Well no wonder I went through them so fast, I found at LEAST twenty of them in the little shit's room. Some were opened and he had only used one strip out of them, so he didn't even know what he was fucking doing. I found empty bottles of my expensive lotion in his room, movies of mine, one of my missing gameboys, so much of my stuff (though I didn't find the phone and gameboy I was looking for). Oh, but it gets better. Under his mattress I found margarita mix. Next to his bed (aka in fucking plain sight if anyone ever actually looked) I found numerous types of flavored cigarillos, most of which were either empty or had one missing, empty cigarette boxes, fireworks, matching, and a pretty much empty bottle of Mom's expensive anti-aging face cream (he basically can't read so he didn't even know what it was for). Oh, and I also found one of those really long plastic cups (like the ones you get at a fair or sports game with the long straws) that he had obviously tried to turn into a bong. In plain sight. Right next to his bed. He had unrolled the cigarillos and poured them in there judging by the smell. I've never done drugs, but it doesn't take a genius to know that A) I'm pretty sure using a thin plastic cup thing won't work as a bong and B) you don't get high from tobacco. I showed Mom everything I found, and she told me to hide it all in my room until they got home so I could show Dad. I hid it all under my bed so if one of them opened my door at least they wouldn't see it. I was locked in my room when they came home, and heard my brother go into his room. Thirty seconds after walking into his room he came pounding on my door, yelling, "Have you been in my room?" "No? Why?" "You're such a bitch. Someone's been in my room". At that point Mom came out of her room, "You don't call her a bitch. I went in there to put some clothes up." Dad came in and wanted to know what Phillip was yelling about and Phillip screamed,"She went in my room and it's a wreck now. It was clean when I left". Fuck no it was not! I showed Dad everything I had found and said, "See? You still think he didn't take my stuff?" He said, "But it still doesn't prove he took your phone or other thing. Those cigarettes have probably been in there a long time and that bottle of margarita mix doesn't even look open". And then he started yelling at me, saying I had no right to go in there. Are.You.Fucking.Kidding.Me. That's when I started crying, "Are you kidding me?! He steals my stuff and I'm the one getting yelled at for finally doing something about it?" The yelling continued, "Two wrongs don't make a right. I told you I would handle it. That stuff he took has probably been in there for a long time anyway because he's been going to work with me every day." You're shitting me, is he actually justifying this shit? Like it's not a big deal? Fuck no. NO. "I asked you a month ago to go in there and you never did. Two wrongs don't make a right?! So why isn't HE the one getting screamed at? Huh? Why am I the one getting yelled at when it was my stuff getting taken?! It's not old stuff, I just bought those white strips. They're not cheap either." The yelling continued, and then my Mom jumped in to defend me and then he started screaming at her. I found myself in the floor still crying, curled up in a ball, and now having a full blown panic attack and I felt like my chest was about to explode because I couldn't breathe. What did my asshole of a "father" do at that moment? Stop to check on me? Oh no, he went to go check on Phillip and make sure he was okay. Not the daughter hyperventilating in the floor, but the thief of a son because he was obviously the victim here.
It's been a week, and he's barely said two words to me. It's obvious I'm upset, and he's hasn't even attempted to find out why. But I've realized something over this past week of hell. This is going to sound like a stereotypical bratty middle child statement, but whatever. Out of the three children: my half-sister, myself, and my brother, I matter the least to him. Wait. Hear (er, read) me out. Mindi's the fucking prodigal child. At 37, after years of sobriety and being clean, she refuses to really try to get her shit back together and acts like a four year old when she doesn't get her way. Time after time after time she drags us all through this hell and yet if she stays clean for two weeks my Dad acts like she's cured freaking cancer. Phillip verbally abuses my mom and I on a daily basis, threatened to throw me through a glass window last month because I wouldn't take him somewhere, steals, lies, and does whatever he wants because he knows he'll get away with it. He can do no wrong. And then, there's me: the one who's never been in trouble with the law, never done drugs, never smoked, never been drunk. I don't sleep around. My grades are never lower than B's aside from Math. I now work three jobs while taking classes and I pay for my own car. If I could get through college quicker I would but having Asperger's complicates things. If I could afford to move out on my own I'd do it in a heartbeat. By all accounts I'm "the good child", the one who's told all the time, "Your parents must be so proud of you". I don't know if I've ever heard my Dad direct the words "I'm proud of you" at me. Mindi stays clean and on her meds for a week and he's "proud of her", Phillip plays in some stupid golf tournament but doesn't place and he's "proud". I pull a 3.0 in school while royally stressing about my nanny job situation and...? Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Radio Silence.
Actions speak louder than words. I'm not saying my Dad doesn't love me, I know that's not true. While he may care about my physical well-being, it's painfully obvious by his actions, or lack there of, over this past week that my emotional and psychological well-being is not high up on his concern list, unlike those of my siblings. When I said this to my mom the other day, about how his actions of checking on Phillip that night and yet he still hadn't talked to me, she fell silent. She couldn't disagree because she knew I had a point. When Dad left today I mumbled to myself, "A week later and he still hasn't said anything. Of course," Mom said he was trying to talk to me but I would barely respond. No, I'm sorry but asking be a question about dinner does not count as "talking" in my book. I told her that doesn't count as talking, that he had not once asked what was wrong. She said I obviously don't know him very well because that's not how he does things. That's not how he communicates. "Really?" I said, "Because he sure as hell had no problem making sure Phillip was okay that night. No problem at all. So you can't say that about him because he did it with Phillip. If he can do that with Phillip then he can do it with me." Again, she had no response. Because really, what could she say?
Later all. Name that title.