EMMJAY

So she can say anything she wants to me in terms of personal insults, punishment and threats. The second I do so much as respond to one of my mother's rhetorical snide remarks as means of defending myself, I get punished. I ask why and I get punished again. So by trying to seek justification, I instead get "privileges" taken away, chores or slapped. Then somehow she claims that what what ever I've expressed about my disregard for the situation is abuse and calls up her mom or her friends and plays victim. Yet if I try to obtain a healthy conversation with a third party to ease myself in the heat of the moment and maybe regain some self-esteem after having it all shat on by who I am convinced is the devil incarnated, all of a sudden I'm "betraying" her and am subject to even more punishment. All because I'm the kid and shes the parent. How democratic.

What the hell is wrong with this woman!? I'm really surprised that I don't have some serious mental disorder having been raised by her. But in a way, I feel as though I've raised myself. Weeks can go by and I don't even remember I have a father and yet this is at the front of her mind constantly and she frequently regenerates reasons it's my fault he left her. She yells at me every day. I end up a crying mess every night. Sure I'm not a child soldier in Africa or what ever but I have a hell of a lot more reasons to be self loathing than most of the kids I know who perpetuate themselves in self-proclaimed depression. And yet I'M NOT. I'm a genuinely happy and carefree person until my mom comes along and tears me down like this. Maybe thats my mental disorder. Maybe I should have killed myself ages ago. Maybe its hopeless for me after all and I've just been lucky enough to ride through the turbulence thus far. I don't want to wait for her to realize she has a great kid after all.

Despite the stress and struggle my dad has caused by leaving, I respect him so much for getting away from her while he could. As for me? I'm the kid.

Because I go out of my way to avoid situations involving me reading books (especially factious ones) but bought myself a copy of the book ‘Lolita’ for my English class anyway, I rented the 1962 version of the film (along with the other one which I will soon sit down to watch sometime in this coming week) just top get a good idea of the general plot and what not before cracking open what harbored a small potential to turn out to be a 317 page nightmare (kay, I’m a slow reader, please go home now) I can’t quite put into words this film without producing some kind of automated and blan narrative- like I so often do but it was enough to distract my mind from the usual cesspool of wank that resides in my life. Or in other words, go see it for yourself. It appeals to like-minded individuals of myself.

In other news, recently my relationship with my mother seems to have reached a plateau of sorts in the way that things haven’t improved but at the same time she hasn’t tried to get me into any more childish little fist fights for the last couple of weeks but still she finds ways of making me suffer and ways of her to not have to take responsibility for her actions. Maybe this one needs a bit more of an explanation before I droll on into analysis which if I’m lucky you will commit but a fraction of the attention required to qualify for “skim over” status to.

When ever my mother finds some minute little imperfection in her life which she can obscurely peg on me, she instantly ceases the opportunity to get into some useless little spat (God forbid that she actually told me something once like a normal human being or sat down and talked out our her problems because it’s painfully obvious who was dealt a handicap when it comes to ways of articulating oneself) which is her way of getting some power over somebody; anybody. So then she falls short of ways to express herself in a non-barbaric fashion and resorts to the last act of her limited mind- rage and violence. Now I may be physically incapable of virtually every other activity requiring moderate physical aptitude but I’m sure that I’m more than simply on par with the world when it comes to throwing a few punches. But here’s the catch: somewhere in her sick little mind, she figures that it’s okay for her to try to break my back or punch me clean in the face but if I were to even attempt to retain her, it’s a perfectly reasonable clause to call the police because I’m being an “out of control teenager”. And this is what I’m getting at; why is it that she can completely justify what she puts me through and by the same logic (if you can even call it that) I can’t defend why it’s wrong for the person who’s supposed to provide, advocate and nurture for you to but you through so much abuse.

As I was getting at, the same goes for my financial situation. She owes me a huge debt right now that’s well over a year old and it seems that with every one of my paychecks, a respectable portion ends up going to her. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘Why not just say no?’. If only things were that simple. One of several less desirable outcomes will arise. Some of which include getting privileges taken away, threatening to not repay me for other debt that’s long overdue, withholding food and further humiliation and degration in sequence with any of the others. I’m picking option one only because there’s a higher change of me not landing up in a less desirable situation much like how I’m left with no choice but to endure her battery.

Know you what else is funny? How when we have these little conversations, she mentions everything I own that she sees as frivolous vehicles of driving my ‘spoiled brat lifestyle’. Do you know why I find this little tidbit particularly hilarious? Because she has never given me any of the stuff that she brings up- comic books, clothes, shoes, video games, movies, my computer, action figures, fabric… these are in truth more so my methods of drowning out the sound of her grading voice and seeking happiness.

I’m convinced that this is the way she attempts to get control over her life- by trying to take control of mine. She obviously needs to get her financial priorities in order (As Jordan remarked from a note on our fridge: “Why are getting a facial and hair dyed above pay back MJ?”, something that I’ve become desensitized to), she’s a substitute teacher and therefore gets no power in the workplace, she does not stop binge eating and despite all her feminist bullshit she loads on me about (and I quote) how men all deserve to be castrated and how she’s an independent and self sufficient woman, she’s really more desperate than a stray cat in heat .

Without knowing my mother, one may also suggest that I cut her some slack for the unfortunate situation that is my father having left us eleven and a half years ago and she being left alone to raise a child. Well guess what? That debt didn’t get how it is now from responsible payments over time. She’s been using it as an excuse to recklessly support a lifestyle she can’t afford in some kind of attempt to get remarried and then this unreasonable archetype of hers that is miles out of her greedy little league, will all of a sudden make all our her problems disappear. It’s her failure to take ownership for her own lack of financial management skills because it’s so much easier to just peg my dad for it. And that’s another thing, when ever I challenge her on some ignorant viewpoint of hers, she blames me right away for having inherited my father’s short temper and chauvinism (ironically enough, she’s foolish enough to believe that such traits can be inherited and not taught by the father that I never saw for the five years I was living with him anyway) She blames the whole wide world’s prejudice against single mothers for her mistakes. Yeah, I’m sure that it’s because you don’t have a husband that some teacher wrote you a bad letter of recommendation that I will never hear the end of.

If I were to believe anything about this ‘traditional family structure’ which she holds so close to what remains of her cold and fickle heart, it would be that until I’m 18, I shouldn’t get involved with the finances. Never once has that woman lent me a cent and here I am now, sixteen years old and worrying about my monetary matters. Do you know why it is that I have high end electronics, fancy gadgets and expensive clothes? Because I was never doted on with allowances and such. I never had money banging around in my life so although few in number, I have gone out of my way to only buy myself the best even if it takes me months of agonizing saving and working a position I don’t particularly enjoy which, I’m now being pressured to quit on account of her not getting as much as she had expected back on her income tax because I’ve held down a respectable job for the past year OR pay her back the $3000 or what ever she was expecting. Oh, but what’s this? I don’t have that money because I gave it all to her. Then she calls me a spoiled brat for wanting this money back. Is this wrong of me? Is it wrong for me to want back what was given out of generosity so long ago? Am I crazy for wanting my own money back? But no, every time I ask when I might be seeing a single dollar of that back, she starts listing off how much she’s going to subtract for having asked and then explodes in a fit of wrath which I have to once again bide my way through even if it means sacrificing my own dignity. Some glorious family structure this is.

But back to my father for one second. I’m the one whose being raised without any male authority figure or what ever which essentially is supposed to fuck me over for life or something like that (keep in mind too, my entire relative base is composed of women except for my grandpa) And do I mope and do I angst and further more do I care? I really know no different and feel nothing about it aside from maybe my own expectations of what may have been different had I had a father. Maybe then I would have had somebody of my own gender to seek comfort with instead of being pushed around into awkward social situations with the women who were supposed to be my source to seek confrontation with should I need it. But have I gotten my issues (especially those concerning gender, the real taboo trigger) off my chest? Not by a long shot and I’m not sure whether or not I can trust myself forever with such regards mutating inside my head. But in truth I guess I’m an emotional disconnect when it comes to really caring about my dad. I feel none of what I guess I'm expected to. He’s just one more Card at Christmas time to me and maybe I guess I’ve always known in the back of my head that I was better left unexposed to him and all his illegal activities, recreational drug use, alcoholism, promiscuity and of course his violent out lashes. But at the same time, where applicable I would love to rack up on any missed points for having a parental unit completely cut you off all together without any reason at all. For somebody who brought you into the world to go almost years on end sometimes without contacting you. For me to not believe in unconditional love (or at least to never be the subject of it).

I’m sixteen. What’s there I can really do to change any of this anyway?

Bridget posted a picture of Chris Momot last night and I broke down and cried for more than an hour and a half.

Now that I’m thinking about, I feel like I’m going to cry again. I really need to stop being such a pansy.

But I got a card in the mail this afternoon from my daddy and it totally made my day. Now I know where I get my shitty sense of humor, as well as my creepy Asian fascination from…



Awwwe, dad. Stop smoking so much pot.