FUCK FUCK FUCK AND FUCK! Daddy's coming out for Parent's Weekend. This is what I get for opening my mouth. I ask my mother today on the phone if my SISTERS can come to see me! Well, my sister and her au pair/my good friend. And what do I get? Neither of them, but my father. I don't WANT my father to come here. I mean, I love my daddy. He's great. I love him. He'll buy me stuff. We get along most of the time, unlike my mother and I, but I don't want him HERE if the others don't get to come. I don't miss him. I miss my sisters. I miss my girlfriend. I miss my best friend. I don't want my daddy to come! grrr! He's already seen the fucking school, and my sisters haven't. And Linda's leaving in April, which means that the probable last time I'm going to see her is at Christmas break. And that SUCKS, cause I hate it when these people leave, cause it hurts! And I'll never see her again after Christmas, whereas I'll see my father a lot, barring something awful. And, well, it's not fair. She just sends me an e-mail, "Your father will be coming for Parent Weekend. The girls aren't coming because it's too FUCKING expensive." except, paraphrased. She ALWAYS does this. She hates it that I get along with Linda, or did with Sandra and Terry and Holly and all of them because she knows that they've been more of mothers to me than she has, and that I in turn have been more of a mother to my sister than she has, but that's not my fault! If she was a mother to us, we wouldn't have to do things this way! But instead, she's been in turns neglectful and abusive. If we're lucky, she just leaves us alone, with the babysitters or with each other. If we're not, she tries to interfere. When we, mainly Brynne especially when she was little, don't get it and it doesn't work cause it's not the way things are most of the time, she gets upset. She throws temper tantrums like a three-year-old, down on the floor with her hands in fists screaming and crying hysterically and making ridiculous demands. And calling names, and being cruel, and if that doesn't work or if I try to calm her down, she hits. And scratches. And hits some more. And throws things. And all sorts of things that made my childhood the pleasant experience that it was. Daddy doesn't know, doesn't want to know, doesn't want to deal with it. He isn't strong enough to deal with it. So I did. And it kept up until I was almost as tall as she was, and big enough that even if she did dig her fingernails into my shoulders and pull, I wouldn't move because I knew I had to stand up to her at some point. And at some point, I realized that either I had to get a handle on my temper or end up the way she is. And I think I did, because people say that I'm a gentle person. Not the people in Pelham, who all still think I'm the way I was when I was ten, eleven, twelve years old, but they never let you change, and I'm not there now, and I'm not at home with that, either, and I don't want Daddy to come here, because I'm incapable of change in his eyes too. He still thinks I'm just like my mother. Linda doesn't. I asked her about it, told her about it, and she said no, there's nothing of her in me. And I take that as a very high compliment, especially from a person I consider very nice, and gentle, and sweet. She's a genuinly good person, and you don't run into many of those. And my real sister is a wonderful child, and I love her to death, and I want her to come see me! She also sees me the way my father does, but she's 11, and that can change. He's 54, and it won't until I have kids of my own. And so I'm mad.
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