@Anita: That does seem like a very proper way to heal. If only such was obtainable for me, but lord knows I’m trying my hardest.

—

The new management at these apartments have been making all the wrong moves, and now, mom wants us to move. This could be both good, and bad.

She wants to go big (we currently live in an 800 Sq ft apartment, she’s thinking a 2500 sq ft house) but big means expensive, which also could mean roommates. I assume she’d accept anyone who’d take the offer, and I heard him offering one of his coworkers the roommate position.

Why this could be good is because I could get a whole hell lot more of space to hide, and live in my own bubble. As to why this could be bad, I really don’t want to live with 2 emotionally abuse twats at once, because one has already been enough for me to consider taking all the pills I can find in the house.

In fact, living with another stranger of any kind is a terrible idea. Even less privacy. But then again, I don’t pay the rent, do I? (If I was productive at anything at life, I would shut up, get a job across the street, and pitch in with rent.)

And there’s no one specific destination in mind, which means that this new place could be even farther from the charter school. I heard him really trying to persuade her into one house that’s over 30 minutes away from the charter school, by car. I told her I want something close to it (because it’s one of the very, very few things I look forward to), but then again, I don’t pay the rent. Whatever happens, happens.

Also, mother was helping me bleach my hair again today. He was on the phone in their room, next to the bathroom. She left for a second, to take the dogs out back, and he suddenly to decides to randomly, and loudly, bring the statement “y’know, kids born in the northwest are soft.” into his conversation.

Something about that made my blood boil. Not only is it a brain-rotting kind of stupid generalization, something a first grader would say on the playground, before sticking his taunting tongue between his tooth gap, where he lost a baby tooth the night before. But you’re telling me that I put up with your shenanigans for 3 or so years to be called “soft”? And excuse me, but most any 13-16 year old would probably meet his definition of “soft”, unless they had a bowl of thumbtacks for breakfast. Oh, if only I had the physical strength to uppercut him. He truly, truly deserves it.

I can’t stand it. I can’t stand him. He’s genuinely driving me mad, and spending another 1 year and 10 months in this household might actually be the death of me. -huff, huff-

Please, anyone, give me some reasonable thoughts. My mind is rushing with nothing but angst, and pure hatred towards him. When he says those little, indirect and immature put-downs, it completely shatters my entire day. I could’ve just won the lottery, if I was old enough to enter it, and he could say something, anything, and I would be completely pissed. Even if it’s just a recycled comment, or something on about how much of a lazy, good-for-nothing twat I am, it still affects me in the same way.

(And again, I do understand I am lazy and helpless, but him saying something will not change that. For anything, it’ll make me feel challenged to continue being lazy, just so he can bitch and moan more, even if that doesn’t benefit either of us. If he actually wants me to do anything, for my own benefit, he could teach me how to do something. But at this point, the trust was trampled long ago, and there’s no point to any of it, now. I won’t even look him in the eye.)