Discrepancy

This is word vomit from a sick person. A sick woman carrying a hereditary, fatal disease passed down from generation to generation. The bug roots itself when you're young enough to think for yourself. The symptoms are worthlessness -- they convince you that being a human is something you have to earn.

You're fat, your skin is bad, your mother had twelve good looking boyfriends and straight A's in school at your age. What right do you have to take up space?

The only treatment for this bug is the "why nots". Why not exist? Why not achieve what you please? I may not have Pietro, Oskar, Dominic, Vladimir and whoever else fawning for my attention, but I contribute something to society.

You see, I am a guardian. The sickness is dysfunction, and it is a scary illness to have, because there's a high risk of passing it on to your children.

I'm convinced that the sickness in my bloodline is going to die with me.

The Battle of Two Families: The Redneck Revengeance

Carrying on from my last post, my home is now a battlezone

Cary is bleeding from the head, I've ushered in my niece and younger sister who are both sobbing and I'm trying to contain the redneck fury. THEN, and this is my favorite, Tammy comes charging up and tries to get into the room to, and I quote, "Kick our asses." Dad basically slammed the door on her hand while I held my battle-ready sword at the ready.

Throughout, I'm emotionally shut down and oddly stoic. Everyone else is either cussing, crying, screaming their heads off or ready to throw down. David packs up his family with that defeated sigh I am sure I will have at his age. The younger of the two girls comes to the door that leads out into the back yard and waves me over. I start to proceed over, having called the ambulance already, and Cary and Kim shout, "Don't talk to that little bitch!"

That girl was eleven years old at the time.

My veins ran cold. I whipped around and told them, "You do not call a child a bitch."

Now, I'M the enemy. I'm being yelled at that I'm so immature, I don't know what I'm talking about. I walk out to her and the eleven year old -- the ELEVEN YEAR OLD -- is screaming at them over me like we're on the godamned Jerry Springer show and someone got proved to be the father.

So, I tell her to calm down. She gets in my face and tells me I can't tell her what to do.

I remember hissing, "I am telling you what to do."

Maybe I was scary in my pink pajama bottoms, but she shut up. Then she started sobbing and begging me not to call the police on her mother because she's on parole and her daddy is in jail and just oh my fuck. 

I explain that I had to call the ambulance due to Cary's wound, and that she should go get in the car with her family to be safe. Soon after, they rolled out and left.

I go back inside to Cary and Kim STILL yelling at me. Dad comes barreling out and, having the temperament of a bear who got poked with a live cobra. He yells at everyone to shut up, Cary and Kim are screaming I'm immature and I answer, "At least I don't call an eleven year old a bitch."

Once again, we're all told to shut up, so out I go to sit on the curb in my pink pajama bottoms and wait for the cops.

Happy Fourth of July.

The Battle of Two Families: Jerry Springer Edition.

A tale of romance, intrigue, two sides of my family getting into a fist fight. 

Yaaaay

This is a story that is one of those "You had to be there" sort of deals, but ones that people are horrified at; personally, I think it's fucking hilarious.

To set the scene, my elderly father had just undergone knee surgery, and we had family down taking advantage of our pool and the Florida weather.

So, we had: Tammy, David, Rachel and Rachel's two daughters who's names elude me. What part of the family they were, I have no idea, but Rachel was on parole, Tammy was 60 and drunk and a complete twat and David had recently undergone surgery for having a heart attack. We also had two of my older half-sisters, Kim and Cary.

90% of the house is drunk and from Kentucky. We are in Florida. It can only end so well.

As far as I know, it began when Tammy told my younger sister to gtfo out of her bedroom so Rachel's girls could take a nap. My two half-sisters sprang into action, naturally telling them that they hadn't even been invited, this was there house, etc -- to the two young girls.

ಠ_ಠ

 I venture from my cave and the older girl is sobbing and apologizes to me for coming when they were unwelcome. I was derped, it was a rare day off, but I assure her it's fine and think that is it. 

I was wrong. 

Next thing I know, Cary and Kim are ganging up on Rachel, who is quietly packing their bags and trying to head out. I'm stood in the hallway and watching the train wreck in progress when Cary opens her mouth and tells Rachel, "You need to get your godamned kids and go." 

ಠ_ಠ

Rachel, understandably, turns around and asks, "Really, Cary?" And then comes the first blow -- BAM, Rachel delivers a swift punch to Cary's cheek. Cary, being drunk as fuck, stumbles and cracks her head on the living room table. Kim has tackled Rachel on to the air mattress they were using, they're scrapping, Cary is sobbing about how she's never been in a fight before and she can't believe Rachel hit her (after threatening to woop ass for the last several hours). 

Fuck my life.