I have decided that written word is important if I ever want to remember anything for the future. Pictures offer memories as well, but sometimes I don't recall the specifics of a situation--like whether I was cranky or optimistic on a particular day, and what I was thinking when someone did something. So basically, this entire blog is dedicated only to myself so that I have something to look back on when I'm browsing the internet like I was today. Sorry if you were hoping for something more.
Which brings me to why I am here.
I was facebooking for the first time in almost two weeks because I had been at the shore with my recently attained step-family, along with my father and siblings. I talked to my friends Erin, Alex Morris, and Adam; all of whom I have not seen in over a month. So about two hours ago I broke off conversation so I can go to bed, for I have a trek to Long Island tomorrow so I can go meet more relatives that I acquired through Marisa, my step-mother.
But then I went browsing through Twitter, which I got about a month ago, and found it absolutely boring after .394 seconds. And then I went to myspace and xanga which contained items that were 4-5 years old. And I realized how different my life was and the people I associated with (and the horrible way I typed), but at the same time, saw how much the feelings I had towards what happened to me (and the music I listened to) stayed the same.
I actually found it rather therapeutic. Lately, I've been so caught up in everything around me. Like moving to a new place where I know barely anyone has been particularly stressful. And I just received a job as a rides opererator with 3980234 billion rules I have to remember EVERY TIME I START. Whether it be the roller coaster or the tea cups, which all have a different set of rules. I also miss all of my friends a lot. It's not like I cry every night or anything, because I know that I need to be here. I need to befriend my step-mom and step-sister, or I'll never get the chance later in life. It's important. They are my family now.
But the point is, no matter how fucked my life seems to be lately, it really isn't that much worse than a few years ago. In all actually, it's even a little better. With the shit from when my mom was around, it's no wonder I was depressed. She was in and out (mostly out) of my life for years. She even tried to commit suicide, something I couldn't forgive her for until about a year or two ago. But I've learned not to care anymore. For my birthday about four years ago, she wrote me this long letter, and in it she explained how "even though you can't see everything that's happening, know that I love you," or something along those lines. It really pissed me off. I sure as hell knew EXACTLY what was going on. She had four kids. She couldn't take it. BUMMER. It was obviously stressful, with my father working six days a week, but it was her responsibility to stick to it. For better or worse. She was the one that left. Not me.
But since that was years ago, and I resolved myself enough to have dinner with her once a week for the last year, (with Meg accompanying me most of the time, I wasn't ready to have alone time with her) I figured I'd forgive her. I only have one birth mother. And I know it hurts her being away from me more than it hurts me to be with her. At least I hope it does, as awful as it sounds. I do it mostly out of respect for her; or rather, probably more as pity.
So I guess I'm still the same person I was then. I'm glad to hear it. I thought I was losing myself somewhere in this mess.
