my mother got a letter about the parent-tutor conference - i can't spell that word - that york college is having on wednesday. i didn't want her to go, because i didn't like the thought of my new teachers predicting what i was going to get this year based on my failures last year to my parents. my mother just got more and more stuborn as we were arguing about it and said she was going to go, with or without me.

fine, she can go, but i won't make her any appointments. screw you, mother; you forfeited any rights to me when you and dad squabbled all your money away and left us so nicely set in debt that becky and i have been left to fend for ourselves.

[the one exception to this rule is leeds festival : they bought me a weekend ticket (£95). i appreciate that.]

dad lost his rights to me in high school, when he saw me being bullied mercilessly on the school buses but couldn't be bothered to drive me to school when he was going that way anyway. building mental strength, my eye; if he seriously thought i needed *more* mental strength at the age of 16 after what we'd been through as a family, he was the one needing bloody mental strength.

my mother lost her rights to me when i was 13. yes, i hit puberty, but i'd like to say i'm coming out of the other side now - i'm eighteen in 6 weeks - and our relationship has been permanently damaged. there was a brief reprive - the wonder prozac years [okay, only one year. i always wanted to meet kevin, lol] but aside from that.. even though my father more or less abandoned me during high school, he still talked to me. she didn't. she was always busy. she didn't even *live* with us for half the time - she was 200 miles away. then last year - my first year in york sixth form - they decided to set me off on the proverbial float of life; candles and all.

superb.

[not really.]

i could've done with some support, when battling to try and drop german to take up english language; i got none. i could've done with money, to help me through; after the first few months, i got nothing. sudden, and complete, cut off. when i needed help to stop binging and purging, i should've felt like i could maybe have gone to my mother, the vessel that carried me until my premature birth; i coped with it on my own. and i stopped doing it on my own.

i earn money to survive on at college, including bus fares, which take up the majority of my wage.

i struggle through essays and questions set by my tutors, trying to be clever, like i once was at high school, on my own.

i buy my own clothes, cds, videos, even furniture.

i look after me.

and i resent that now

after all these years

The Mother is trying to step in.

maybe she does care.

[after the way she refused to hug me or touch me or call me pretty or help me put on make-up or in any way aid me to keep my wobbling world floating above water... i know it's cruel. but it's true.

it's a case of 'too little, too late.']

i'll always be the ugly daughter she didn't want. at least my twin died. then there would've been two.
poor mother would've needed therapy.

2002-09-21 - 11:10 a.m.
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