Dreams

In all my recent dreams, only two things have been the same. One, I have attempted/succeeded at dying and Two, for some reason, someone always brings up me being a man.

My dream last night was no exception. For some reason, I dreamed of VeVa. I was in NYC for some reason (I'm assuming) and met up with Veronica. We were talking, laughing, went for a ride in a car and talked some more. At some point in the dream, Veronica asked me if I was actually a boy. My answer was fumbled (for it usually is when I am sleeping) and I answered that "Yes, in my dreams I am, but maybe... maybe I am really both." but she started freaking out like "Crap, I kissed you. How could you lie to me like that? B will throw a fit, I can't believe I actually kissed you..." and I was aggravated, confused and a bit scared, so I ran from the car.

Really pathetic dream, eh? I think I died that time from a razor blade, but I can't remember.

What I CAN remember is that each time I attempt to die, I start getting scared, but only AFTER I made the fatal wound/ swallow the fatal pills/ etc. It's like "Crap, this is really it. I'm really going to die. No more chances. This is it - this is the end." But then afterwords, I get... calm. Like "It's over. No more problems, no more expectations, no more responsibilities. No more wondering what is wrong with me. For once... I can just be." And then I die. But I always wake up. Always.

This time, I woke up to the sound of my mother's voice, loud and obnoxious with two other people in the other room. I opened the door and called out if they could just be quiet, it would be wonderful. It was after 12 o'clock. My mom's reply was "Sure!" And I went back to bed. She didn't quiet down at all. Didn't even attempt to. So I went to the door again and got the same response. I waited ten minutes before doing it again and after that, I couldn't take it anymore. I got my clothing on (the Kiska is most comfortable nude) and walked out the door.

There she was, sitting on her couch and - I KNEW it - with a glass of wine in her hand. She and her friends looked up at me, looking mock frightened, but mostly amused, and said "I'm sorry Sarah - funny times are happening." and then I just threw it at her.

"I am trying to sleep, I asked you nicely THREE times, you have TWO young boys sleeping in the next room! Shut up, you're drunk." She looked up at me like "WOAH" and her friend (who up until this point, liked me very much) said "Sarah, she only had two glasses..." I began to tell her that she was drinking before she even arrived when my mother cut in.

"That's not the point. You have NO right to speak to me this way like you're my mother..."

"Well, nothing else seemed to work. Perhaps I should give this a try."

"Sarah, go to sleep."

"Oh, I WOULD..."

And I stomped off back to my room. She knows I hate noise when I sleep. Whenever I visit, this is usually the largest argument we have. And it's not even that she's talking on the phone or with friends, it's that she blasts the TV and her mini DVD player even when she isn't watching it. What's more, she sits RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT. The entire time, she complains that she can't hear it, but then contradicts herself saying her hearing is fine. We had finally come to a compramise. She plugs ear phones in her ears when she's watching her DVD player, which is wonderful because she sleeps with it on and when it isn't on, she complains she cant sleep.

So I get to bed and she and her friends start speaking in spanish... as if I can't understand. My mother starts.

"The little killjoy..." She says, as I hear her and her friends place their glasses on the table (Which are still right in front of me. On the table.)

Her friend (who we shall call B) continues "I understand where she's coming from, but she didn't have any right telling you to shut up. I wouldn't have allowed it." They continue talking about me, loudly until the conversation dies out and changes to something new.

If they really understood where I was coming from, they'd understand that sleep is my only solace in the world and they are gleefully taking away from me that only thing that makes me feel sane.

Now, as to why I am still here, at my mother's house when I so clearly hate it...

I came here to go with my brother to Washington DC. It was aggravating, but in the end, fun. My brother had never been there before, he's eight. It was aggravating because he has all the symptoms of having ADHD (I hope this is not true. If so, my mother doesn't believe in mental disorders and he's ALREADY doing horribly in school... ) and my mother walks about 5 times slower than me. She always complains. We always have to wait for her. I felt like the parent between two polar opposite kids.

But I took my brother to the air and space museum. He loved it. I believe that in the end, it was worth it.

I spoke to my mom after. I told her that my diagnosis sheet was written up. Because of this, she should do her part and start helping me with my college. My mother replied "No." Saying she didn't have to. In the end, she told me to apply for financial aid (Which I HAD) and if they didn't help me, then MAYBE she would.

Do you see what this is?

It's fucking blackmail. I have to keep her happy... for a maybe. But what other choice do I have?

She then said that if I do work for her on the weekends (Yes, EVERY weekend) she'd give me $10. It's not much at all. But I need it. I need every fucking dollar I can get my hands on. Yes, this is how desperate I am.

That's why I'm still here. For $10. Bloody hell.

But after last night, I do not know if I'll receive ANY money what so ever. I fucking hate her. It's the truth, no exaggeration. I hate my mother.

I hate how she stole all my father's money (I'd be a millionaire right now, if she didn't), I hate how fucking manipulative she is, I hate how she's the embodiment of the Catholic sin Sloth, I hate how she used to be a druggie drunk that abused my sister and I - even our CATS, and now that she's found God, she believes that all is forgiven, and the worst part? I hate that she's related to ME. I hate that I feel her in my BLOOD, I hate that I look in the mirror and see the shape of her face, I hate that some flaws inside of me come from HER and I HATE HATE HATE that I have to live with this. I have had dreams where I murdered her. I have had many.

My brother is the only reason I come back. He misses me, he needs me. I teach him things my mother wouldn't even dare, he is not my child but he's the closest thing I will ever have to one. I take comfort in the fact that he is more like me than he is like her.

I want to be alone. I'm sick of people. My shoulders are tired. I can no longer be not selfish. I hate that all my blogs mention suicide, but honestly, these days suicide is all I can think about.

Sometimes, I'm scared that if I don't kill myself, I'll kill everyone else.