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My mom decided it was a good idea to corner me when I got home from work. I'm pretty tired and pretty stressed. Instantly, I just burst into tears.

Because I paid my car insurance on the fifteenth, I really didn't have the money to take off this weekend. My mom, however, has a ton of money just sitting. I convinced her to lend me half of the money until the first, the other half to be paid back by helping her move.

So the topic of conversation was my depression, and how it only seems to get better when there's someone else on the other end of the phone. I can't lie about that, recently, it has been true. But, the exact reason for my depression wasn't clear to her, and in that moment, when she was sitting across the table from me, I figured out why these past months have been really hard.

She thought I was unhappy with myself. Anyone who knows me, who sees me on a daily basis knows that's not my problem. I am very happy with who I am. More than I have been ever.

I'm not happy with what I am doing with my life, and the pressure, stress, depression is all coming from within. For some reason, I feel it's necessary for me to have some goals, some thing that is realistic, and I've been putting pressure on myself to set some.

Her argument was that she was not going to enable me to run away from my unhappiness. Okay, I said. That's totally fair. I had to explain all of these things to her. The cause of my stress, the reasons behind going, what I was thinking about for my future... God. I felt like I was 18 again.

Being some kind of sane, having some kind of understanding of what is really going on in the mess in my head... I have all the right reasons for skipping town. And. I promised to pay her all of the money back instead of helping her move for half.

There is two hundred dollars sitting on my dining room table.

I don't count no days.

My dad and I don't speak to each other. We haven't had a relationship since the summer before I left for school. We had regular phone conversations for a while, we did stuff when I came home from school for visits. But, with my dad, it's always been music and cars and baseball. I have never been able to tell my dad about what's going through my head, how I'm feeling, what I did last week.

Today, after everything had been worked out with my mom, she tells me that my dad has been trying to send me messages via my aunt. Long story short, he's having a hard time not talking to me. He's having a hard time with his girlfriend (always a hard thing between us... she's only a few years older than me), a hard time with work... everything.

Hate does things to your body. It makes you sick, eventually, the way all emotions will if you hold them in long enough. My dad has a lot of hate. A lot of anger.

I'm afraid to call him. I don't want to hear that he's sick. I don't want something to happen to my dad, not like this, not with me being here, and with him so far away. I don't want to try to hear some kind of emotion in his voice where there hasn't been any in years.

I love my dad... but I love my daddy. He's not the same man any more.


This trip is going to be good. I need this time singing, music loud, smoking, thinking. I'm really actually excited about the trip itself. It's my time to deal with Colorado. It needs to be dealt with and I have 12 hours to do it. Plenty of time.

4:20 p.m. - 2002-09-19


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