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Why am I here?

Why the ******** am I here?

Everyday, it’s the same. I wake up, I work, I wonder about Amanda, I talk to Kat and Ian, I go to bed.

Usually, that is enough to make me content.

And then there are days like this that make me wonder what the ******** my purpose in life is.

I wake up. The first thing from Mother Dearest’s lovely mouth is thus: You have errands to run. How many times have I told her to tell me the night before? I actually had plans today. I was going to go dress shopping for the Masque. But no. My mother is TOO ******** LAZY to go to the goddamn store to get what? Milk and Eggs. MILK AND EGGS. WHAT THE HELL?

So, I make the ten-minute trip, quite irritated that I have to leave the comfort of my bedroom, bed and Lappy and never mind that I was talking to Ian or anything.

On the way home from the store, I get a call from Wells Fargo, my bank. Money was stolen from my savings account, along with several others. Of course I had insurance and got the money back, but still. That really put a bad cap on my day. I arrived home hours later than I should have had because I had to go the opposite direction to get to the store. I only had time to eat, talk a little to Ian, say a few words to Amanda, then off to work it was.

I get there, my boss is mad that I was THREE MINUTES LATE (Which in reality I wasn’t, because the clock in the pro-shop is about ten minutes fast. The time-clock said 5-till when I clock in). I tried pointing this out to him, but nooooo, I’m wrong and I have no idea what I’m talking about. Then he gets mad about a scheduling error ON HIS PART, because he scheduled me next week on the day that I have a tournament to play, and I even see the note I wrote him sitting on his desk. I tell him that, and he says it’s “Irrelevant.”

I get out to the cart barn and we have a new guy on staff. He’s a great kid. Hard worker, nice guy, but he’s a tad airy in the head if ya know what I mean. He wasn’t paying attention and drove a golf cart straight into a sand trap. On his first day of work.

But get this.

It’s not his fault.

That’s right.

The Boss-man blames me. Because I wasn’t watching him. Wasn’t watching him my a**. Why should I have to? He’s a sixteen-year-old part-timer. He’s harmless.

And not to mention that I didn’t know that he existed.

So I got written up today.

Everyone agrees that it was a little excessive, but it doesn’t matter. Boss-man’s word is law. You don’t have a say if he feels that you cross him.

Then I get home.

My dad goes, “So, when are you going to make the chicken for tomorrow?”

Uh… What? I ask him what he’s talking about. Apparently, I was supposed to make the fried chicken for tomorrow. I didn’t even know that we were having it to begin with.

So of course, my mother thinks that I’m a total nutcase and that I’m lying. I tell her that I’m not.

She goes, “Of course you are. That’s all you ever do.”

My dad intervenes and says that I’m being sincere. She tells him to shut the ******** up. He mentions that maybe she’s had a little too much to drink. She says that it’s only her third cocktail. Only. Phht. Right.

Eventually, more words are exchanged, more voices are raised, I fight and yell back, my dad defends me and then I pack up Lappy, my stuff and then I march up to my room. Then I throw the gift I was in the middle of making for Mom for Mother’s Day sown the toilet.

It’s hard when I’m reminded how much she hates me and how much I hate her, and no matter how much I make it an effort to repair what ever little relationship we ever had, I remember something:

There’s no use.

Our relationship is not one of a mother or daughter. I came from her. That’s it. I’m related to her (no matter how much I hate hearing it). But that’s it. That’s all there is. There isn’t any motherly love or daughterly love. I was making a present for her because I would be shunned by the family if I didn’t.

Apparently it’s a crime to hate her (at least my Dad sorta somewhat understands).

And as I walk up the stairs, she yells up, “Come back down when you feel like being human.”

Inhuman.

I will never forget that. It stung when she said it. It burned. There’s a mark that it left and it will never go away.

And as I sit here and cry my worries and shed my tears, trying to feel better, trying to make myself stronger and tell myself that I can deal with this, I always have, I can feel my insides just breaking down and down more.

I want to talk to Ian desperately, just to hear his voice because I know that if I do I’d calm down and feel better and be happier. Ian always brings a smile to my face and warm flutteries to my heart, even just thinking of him.

But I get online, and his message status says he needs a little time alone.

Had this been any other night…

It would have been okay, but not this one, please not.

I feel so desperately alone at the moment.

And it hurts. It’s suffocating. I’m in pain. And there’s no one around to help me. I’m drowning in it.

But you know what?

Tomorrow is a new day. I don’t have work. I’ll have family around. It should be all good.

But even if tomorrow will be good (I just have a feeling, and you know my feelings) I still want to feel better today.

But at the moment… that’s impossible.