WARNING!!!!: THIS WILL NOT, AND I REPEAT.....NOT, BE A FUNNY OR HAPPY POST. SO THOSE OF YOU LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TO LAUGH AT TODAY, PLEASE,... SKIP THIS POST!!! I'M SAD,... A**HOLE HASN'T CALLED ME,... AND I'M "P.M.S."ing TODAY, A TOTALLY DEADLY COMBINATION!!!! SO ONCE AGAIN, IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR ONE OF MY FUNNY POSTS, PLEASE SKIP THIS ONE. AFTER 147 "HAPPY" POSTS, I THINK I'M ENTITLED TO ONE SAD ONE. DON'T WORRY, I'M NOT GONNA MAKE A HABIT OF IT. JUST NEED SOMEWHERE TO LET OUT MY UNHAPPINESS FOR NOW.
"Are you happy with your life?" (thread title) Ope.... you're gonna be sorry you asked. Where shall I begin???..... Well..... might as well start from the beginning.
Don't know why my parents ever bothered getting married. They HATED each other. My mom told me how the third day after they were married, they already talked about getting a divorce. I can not remember a single happy day in my childhood. My dad was gone most of the time. When he WAS around, all he did was fight with my mom and beat her. A few times, I had to scream at him and threaten to call the police before he stopped. One time, he carried her to the balcony and threatened to throw her off. I had to grab onto his leg and my brother had to grab onto his other leg, and we both started screaming and crying before he stopped. He gambled, was drunk most of the time, and constantly fooled around with other women. We knew because we lived in a small town and everybody talked. We never had family gatherings... never went to the movies, picnics, or anything. Whenever I was bad or got bad marks in school, I would get locked up in this closet. The closet was empty and pitched dark. The only thing that was there was this one doll that I was TERRIFIED of because it had no head. The head had fallen off. Everytime, I was bad, I'd get locked into that closet with that headless doll and I'd cry and scream for hours, until I'd lose my voice, before I'd finally be let out.
Then one morning, when I was 9 years old, I remember waking up to mom and dad's arguing. I remember taking my blankie, going out of my room, and standing at their bedroom door, listening to their arguing. That's when I heard my dad tell my mom that he wants her to leave and to take me with her because he didn't want me anymore. He only wanted my brother. I remember standing there... with tears filling up my eyes, and tears slowly falling all over my little face.... Can you imagine how it feels like to have your own father say that he doesn't want you anymore??? I think 90 percent of me died that day. I remember going back to my room, and my mom coming in a few minutes later, and telling me to pack my stuff, because we were leaving. My mom's friend came to get us. I got into the car, with my little back-pack, and I remember saying to my mom, "we can't leave brother behind. Please mom, we have to take him." She said, "don't worry. I'd never leave him behind." So she went back into the house, got more stuff, grabbed my brother, and we took off.
I remember going to our very first shelter. There were so many strange people there. I didn't want to be there. My brother and I didn't go to school anymore because my mom was afraid that my dad would track us down and try to take back my brother. So we were stuck in this tiny little room at the shelter, with hardly anything around except for this dirty mattress which all 3 of us shared. There were other abused women with their children there too. I hardly ever left that room, except one time, I got bored, went out, and I found this funny-looking toy bunny. I don't know why, but I was really attached to it right away. And when I say funny-looking, I MEAN funny-looking. The only thing that held the head together with the body was like... five pieces of thread. One good pull and the head would fall off. I don't know why... but I really loved that bunny. I think because I felt sorry for it. Then, I was a little happier because I took the bunny everywhere I went in the shelter. It was my new best friend.... That is... until this one woman and her 2 abused kids (one boy, one girl) came to the shelter too. The boy had been shot in the leg by their father and the girl was mentally challenged. When the girl saw me with the bunny, she wanted the bunny too!!! When the social worker there saw that she also wanted the bunny, she told me to give the bunny to that girl since she was mentally challenged. I was so sad because there wasn't anything I could do. The bunny belonged to the shelter. I remember giving her the bunny, and me going back to our little room, and me sitting at the corner, and me crying my eyeballs out. I think that's when I promised myself that I would NEVER, EVER get attached to anyone or anything ever again.
I don't know how long we were at the shelter... days?... weeks?... It couldn't have been that long but it felt like eternity. Then one day, my mom came in and said we have to pack our bags right away, our dad has found us and was outside. He was not allowed in (since it was a shelter for abused women) and the cops were called. After he left, we left the shelter. I remember moving from place to place, sometimes we'd move 3 to 4 times in a month. After a while, I didn't even unpack my little backpack anymore. My mom filed for divorce and was given full custody. That never stopped her from worrying that my dad would one day steal my brother away though. Finally, we decided to leave Edmonton and come to Toronto.
When we got to Toronto, my brother and I finally went back to school. But still, we were constantly moving. Usually once a year, sometimes twice. I was a VERY quiet kid. I didn't talk to anyone and didn't make friends with anybody because I knew I'd be moving again soon anyways so I didn't want to have to say good-bye. I got along with my mom most of the time but she nagged a lot so I ran away from home a few times when I couldn't take the pressure anymore.
If you ever want to see a sad whacker, just ask her about her father. Most of us don't have one. I remember, one time, a cop asked me what would my parents think if they ever found out I was doing this job. My answer... "I don't think they'd care." I think he knew he hit a sore spot so he quickly changed the subject. Another time, someone asked me, "wouldn't you be afraid if your name appeared in the newspaper?" My answer... "who gives a sh*t?" Not me. What do I care? The only people who'd care are the one who come from a good family, have a reputatable job, etc, etc,... I don't have any of those things anyway.
One time, one whacker I worked with at my ex-spa, out of nowhere, says to me, "You're emotionless". Yup, just like that... Out of nowhere. I'm like, "
what do you mean." She's like, "you're funny and all and you make people laugh but you're emotionless." I'm like, "That's not true". She's like, "Yes, it is." I had to go at that point because I had another client waiting; when I got out, she was busy... then I was busy... so we never finished that conversation. Then I never worked with her again 'cuz our spa got shut down.
Another whacker asked me one time why I never kept my clients' numbers or give out mine so they can find me. My answer? Once I leave a spa, I consider my fate with the spa, the boss, the clients, the girls to be over. If they call me... fine. If not, time to find new boss, clients, friends, etc. I've never missed any of my bosses or clients or whacker friends except for this one regular client I had a long, long, time ago. It was this really really old man from the first spa I worked at. He's the only one I think about sometimes. He was really nice to me. He knew I was broke most of the time so he always bought me food. He told me he has no one... no wife, no kids, nothing... except this one bunny rabbit he called "Brownie". One time, he showed me "Brownie" and he was the cutest little thing. I feel sad everytime I think about him. I think it's because of my attachment to the bunny at the shelter so very long ago. I always dread the day his bunny would die because I know how sad he'd be.
So fellow terbites... never ask a whacker about her father... Not unless you want a sh*tty session and a silhouette of you where the door is. I think that's an unspoken rule between us whackers as well... you don't ask about mine and I won't ask you about yours. My dad mails us cards and money sometimes... (he mails it to my aunt's... like... once every 4 years or something) and it's like a slap in the face for me everytime. Even on my birthday, he'd mail me a birthday card but on it, he'd say, "Leah, here's $20 for you for your birthday, and $50 for your brother." Yup, on MY birthday!!!! Might as well not mail me a card at all!!! For what?!!!! A reminder that he only wanted my brother and not me?
Anyways, sorry for this sh*tty crybaby post. I'm just sad right now. Don't worry though.... Like my whacker friend said... I'm emotionless... so I'm probably not gonna feel sad for long. Give it.... oh... a whole 3 days when I finish P.M.S.ing. Then, back to my happy posts.....
to be continued...
(then ask me the same question again.... when highschool begins)
