Express Emotion

I feel like I should be a lot more upset than I actually am. But I'm okay. It honestly feels like Saturday didn't even happen, like I just had a nightmare. I don't feel like I've gained anything from it, but I don't feel like I lost anything. I'm still in the same mental state that I was. I got 3 nights with my boyfriend though. And that was really nice, it's been a long time since we've had that. I'm seriously looking for a job now so that I can pay my half of rent and all of the bills once we move in together. However, jobs are hard to come by. I won't stop trying. Having a home with my boyfriend, a place that we can call our own, is all that I want. When I'm with him I feel safe, I know I'm protected and that nothing can hurt me. Having a home with him would be amazing, to always feel safe.

Saturday morning I woke up, tried to get out of going to my fathers house, but my boyfriend would not let me chicken out. We got ready and went. I did a couple drive by's to see if he was home, in which he was. So we parked down the street and started walking there. I paused a couple times because I couldn't stop crying. My boufriend knocks on the door. No answer. He knocks again... my father answers. I turn around and say 'Hi'. Then. Without hesitation, he says goodbye and slams the door in my face. As my boyfriend and I were walking away (I practically ran), my father then opens his door back up and proceeds to tell my boyfriend what a punk he is and screams at us down the street. I don't know why I expected a different outcome, but shit happens I guess. That night, I figured, since my dads an alcoholic, why not drink until I stop crying? So my boyfriend and I got drunk and played Borderlands till 1am. It was good, and extremely needed.

It's the day before. I will wake up in the morning and get ready to drive to his house. That's my plan. My boyfriend and I are just going to show up at his house without notice, I'm going to knock on the door and then make myself at home. I refuse to feel awkward about it. My boyfriend said that if my father and I get into a screaming match, that he'd step in, but I told him not to. I need to get it out, and yelling might be the only way to do that. I have a feeling that my father won't listen to anything that I say, but I mean, at least I put in one last shot, after this, I give up completely. I hope I sleep tonight.

After not having him in my life for so long, and finally on the path to finding out who I am, I feel like a part of me is going to always be stuck holding onto the fact that I never told him how he affected me. I've been wanting to contact him for a long time now, and now that I have my boyfriend (going on 8 months) I'm at the point where I need to do it. My boyfriend supports me more than ever, and he is going to come with me, just as extra support for when I cry. Saturday is the day. I can do it.

 A shell.   Simply  just the outer layer.   Hard to the touch, but easy to break.  Hold it too tight and it will crack in your hands.   People are like shells.   We put on a hard face and act like words don't hurt us.   We act as if we can't break.   But just like hands on a shell, words can break us.   A simple word or just the implication of a word.   It doesn't take much.   A little pressure and a shell can break.   Some are strong, and some are  fragile .   Just as people are.   Just as I am.   I am a fragile shell.   Cracking as the pressure gets stronger.   One day, I will break.

I grew up in a very rough household. My father was married to a women before my mother came along, and he had a son in that marriage - my brother, who is also 12 years older than me. Well, they broke up, obviously, cause I'm here. Then he met my mother a couple years later, they got married, and had me. I forgot to mention... he's an alcoholic, and he's only gotten worse. When I was born, my brother moved in with us to watch me grow up, but because my dad was in such bad state, he moved back in with his mom by the time I was 6, only coming to visit once or twice a year (they lived in BC). Everyday was a new adventure in my house. Would my dad be a happy drunk? An aggressive one? One that doesn't even bother to come home? My mother and I moved out 3 times in my life; once when I was 3 turning 4, once when I was 7ish, and then the last time, when I was 12. The first two times only lasted a matter of months, and then we would go back. The third time, we left, and we staye

I was born and raised in a small city in Ontario, Canada. I am currently a college student, and professional Netflix watcher. I found myself holding in more and more of my emotions until I completely snapped, which is the reason why you are reading this. Welcome to my life.