Am I the only on unable to sleep due to the upcoming holiday? It's like I have all these responsibilities and I'm so flipping scared. I don't know what to do. I don't want to sleep because I know it will only bring the inevitable. More shit to worry about, more reasons why I'm wrong. When I know I'm not wrong. I know too much to be wrong.

When I sat in the bathtub of my sisters house and she seen the bruises on my chest, she knew I wasn't wrong. Even though the rest of my family somehow thinks either I wanted it or deserved it.

When I was sixteen and drunk as shit, my step-sis gave me a line of crank in her bathroom. It was initiation I guess, cause I got the first line. It was cut up on the toilet in the bathroom on a paper folder. Being drunk, I snorted my line, and as I moved to get up as the chemicals drained down my nostrils, I knocked everyone else's lines of crank on floor. Even then, unbeknownst to me, I wasn't wrong. Although I still feel like an ass about it.

I can't believe that it's 5:13 am on Christmas Eve (not Christmas Day, get it right), and I'm thinking about this shit. Something is really bothering me.

I hate mornings. Especially mornings where I have to pretend that the past is so damn great. Cause it really wasn't. It's been hard getting to where I am now. I don't hold my family or anyone else responsible, it's just life. But it's important enough to be acknowledged nonetheless. Stop pretending it's so pretty. Stop hiding behind some Christmas tree or some gift, or some flag even.

edit....
I think I know what's bothering me. It's been kinda plain as day, for a little while, but I don't even know how to begin to bring it back up. It really bothers me, and pisses me the fuck off.

but I have to talk about how I got raped.
THEY DON'T BELIEVE ME! Why don't they believe me?????

I was 15 years old! Why the fuck would I run from the flimsy foundation of my stepdads house....

Maybe moreso, why the fuck didn't anybody care? Why didn't anyone fight for me??

Jimmy did when he seen that I shooting up. JR punched the guy that raped me, two years too late. I know he knew when it happened, but apparently he didn't believe it. Most didn't.

Except for L, because she was the one I called the very next day, crying, too afraid to walk out of my bedroom to go pee because HE might be out there.

L was the only one that cared.

She saw the bruises. No one else saw them. I screwed up when I forgot to lock the bathroom door before she brought me a towel.

Thinking back on it now...I wish I would have displayed my bruised chest for all to see. That was my only evidence, and because I hid it, no one will ever see it for themselves.

At the time, and even now, it's so much easier to run away.