.

I've just stopped gagging for the first time in a couple hours. My throat is sore from wrenching. My face is wet from tears, my eyes are swollen and sore.

My skin is blotchy and red, my lip has bite marks in it.

I'm cold, I'm suicidal, I'm scared, I'm in shock, I want Andy...I need Andy.

I'm falling apart.

I'm stubbornly telling myself, over and over, "Its not true."

But it is...it is.

Run

I dream of running away.
Almost obsessively.

I dream of running away, running until I have no money. Running until I'm somewhere where no one knows who I am. No one knows where I am, and I never tell them. Not until years and years later at least.

Stay somewhere...somewhere like Washington. Cold...rainy...forest, ocean. Perfect culmination of everything I love.

Write. Write until everyones stories are finished. Seth...Liz...Lucar...Gabriel....Abby and Kira...Violet...Anna, Rio, her love...on and on there names flood through my head until all their voices make it almost unbearable.

I would write, and walk to the ocean, gaze out across it, and wonder the things I wonder. Where will I be in my old age? Will I be alone? Will my mind ever calm down? Will I die before mental illness grips me and erases what makes me me?

Will I still be the same person? Who will lay in my bed and love me late at night when a nightmare rattles me to the core. Will I have children, later. Will they love me, will I be a good mother? Will things ever be like they were when I was little with my parents? Where will my characters go, who's heart will their stories touch. Who's pain will they ease? How much longer before I'm really, truly happy?

I would live for me, for once. Thoughts unburdened by what is best for everyone else. All about me, even if only for a little while.

I'd walk through the woods, always hunting for evidence of the werewolves I know lurk there in the shadows, just out of sight of my petty mortal view.

I'd search every rock and fallen hallowed tree for signs of faeries, sprites, and pixies.

I'd be content.

I dream of it so often I can picture what my house looks like. What I can hear from my bedroom balcony. Huddled deep into a outdoor chair, wrapped in a afghan, late at night, my notebook illuminated by moon and star light, chewing absentmindedly on a pen tip.

A tea or coffee wouldn't be far out of my grasp, steam rolling off it in beautiful wisps of forgotten memories.

I'd be so far away from everything and everyone. Every harsh word, the endless drama, deep probing stare of someone I dislike, questioning eye's that I have no answer to give to make there unwavering stare blink.

So far away only God would know where I was.

I wish...I could stop dreaming about it. I really do. Its like holding candy just out of hand reach of a small child.

Its unpleasant and cruel. For once I wish my mind would listen to me and just...shut up.

The Day I've Had...

So, today at Caleb's I wake up after I night of crying and nightmares. My arms were sore from punching the back of the couch and hitting the wall behind it.

I'm still not sure how I didn't wake anyone up.

But anyway...and btw, this is at Caleb's house, not mine. I woke up to hear Amanda's voice. I notice that all the lights are off and the house is almost unbearably freezing.

I get up and stumble my way into the dining room where I find Amanda, Molly, Maria and Arra standing, all looking pissed.
Amanda's blow and starts going off. I'm still groggy but quickly wake up after hearing the power is off.
Caleb didn't pay his bills, again.
Amanda came over to try to turn the power back on, she was going to pay for it herself, but they wouldn't except it.
I hear dad knows, right after that, he walks in.
By this time we are on the front porch. He starts yelling says the F word, I get freaked out. All I said was "Dad" and he turns on me, eyes popping, face red, and jams a finger in my face saying, DON'T.
I could feel the tears pushing at the back of my eyes, but I refused to look away. I knew everyone was staring at me, I knew Molly's eyes were probably watery, but I wouldn't look away from the eyes with the fire spot in it. My instinct to not look away and prove he had power over me pushed past my want to cry because my father had come close to hitting me.
His finger hung a inch or two from my face, shaking, for a few moments before he lowered it looking ashamed.
I glanced over in time to see Molly, Maria, and Amanda look quickly down at the ground. My gaze found the ugly outdoor carpet too, no one moving until the screen door slammed shut.

Amanda took us out to lunch, and after that we went to her apartment to grab a few things, then out to my house where Maria and me took the kids outside to try to tire them out.
The whole time I'm getting angrier and angrier. I know for a fact that he has enough money in the bank to pay the bills. Hell, he has enough money in the bank right now to pay off his mortgage probably. I know he'll have a thousand and one excuses. A million words pouring from his lips in a mumbled jarg that only people who have known him from infancy can understand.

I just don't understand anymore, I don't understand any of it. The more I try to think about it, the more my brain throbs.

I've caught my mom crying twice today, I've NEVER seen my dad this angry. Caleb's getting away with it as usual, and this week is going to be THAT much harder.

And for what?...what reason?

I had so much more I wanted to type, but I'll have to type it later, I can't even think.