Tru Dat

So I had a really bad allergic reaction two+ days ago, and spent half a day in the ER. Thankfully it’s only like, ten minutes away from where I’m staying.

My face is still swollen, as the doctor ‘prescribed’ me Benadryl.

>->

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Yeah.

Anyway, I recently got a disturbing Facebook message from my brother’s ex-girlfriend. Well, really it started with me messaging her about Dean’s whereabouts [when he last ran away].

Eventually we started talking about her and Dean’s relationship. I guess this was confirmation of my brother’s treatment towards his girlfriends. 

Basically my brother’s a God damn liar. And does the “poor me, poor me, I’ve been through stuff” teenage bullshit, but on a whole different level. At least this girl has common sense and realizes my Dad isn’t the one to blame for Dean’s behavior?

Oh, and my brother’s an abuser. I’ve heard him on the phone before, calling this same girl a slut and whore with his friends on the third line, and then blaming his abusive nature on our past. That’s the same story an old boyfriend gave me while he verbally abused me, and the relationship ended after I realized I couldn’t change him. Christ, you have no idea how painful it is to see my brother’s turning out just like my mother. 

And, one more thing; my father and I want him out of the house NOW. My father’s given him chance after chance, always bailing him out of bad situations and whatnot. But after you steal, cheat, lie, and cause a family to spilt and take sides, it’s hard not to want to kick someone out. Dean’s racist, abusive [especially towards women], and he blames everyone but himself.

I don’t even know how to finish this post.

What I learned: I cannot go out with friends and function normally while on Benadryl. In fact, I act like a pothead when I take 50mgs. O-O

Back in the Dream

So, I got an internship. Not telling with who or what or when [or how much I’m getting paid], but it’s with a comic book company, and I’ve never been so thankful in my life. I learned of the internship the night before I left, and I started crying, and blah, everything was overshadowed by the runaway.

I don’t mean to sound bitter. I’m not selfish or vindictive [oh, wait…]. I’m human above all else.

Today I woke up at 10:30am [thank you, phone alarm], then fell back asleep for two more hours. I ended up taking two Benadryl pills last night, because I started having another infamous allergic reaction. Right when I get home. Damn it, I don’t wanna spend another night in the ER [it’s horrible if you’ve gone in more the once, which I have]. 

Oh, in Safeway I was next in line to a meth addict. It’s alarming, my gaydar isn’t even that strong [then again, Gays don’t always flaunt their sexuality like druggies flaunt their addiction, unconsciously or not].

The man looked pre-aged, unhealthily skinny, and had ratty greasy hair. He was buying a large tub of OxiClean and had a bag of coffee cups with him. I was fascinated and revolted by his very existence, as I don’t like drug addicts [that’s no secret, I guess]. Anyway, the man was erratic and couldn’t put whole sentences together. I knew the only reason he kept looking around was if the police were going to pop up from an aisle.

Finally, the meth-head left in a rush and I paid for my items. Nothing surprises me anymore.  

I planned on going to the mall right after I put the food away, but the lack of coffee and fighting off an allergic reaction [WHICH HAS NOT LEFT, MIND YOU] made me lightheaded. So.

I made dinner early and put it in the fridge.

 

I’m going supplies shopping tomorrow, and boy, YAY FOR NEW SKETCHBOOKS. Also picking up flowers for my landlady and a gift-card for my roommate.

On another note, my allergic reaction caused the skin underneath my chin to swell, so all last night I was afraid I was going to suffocate or something. “Looks like you got punched in the throat,” in the words of a good friend

Does my life suck sometimes or what?

We Can Sail The Seven Seas

I missed SanFran, mostly because I have my own room, which I’m getting posters for tomorrow. I never realized how bland the walls were until my landlady tacked up my Clint Eastwood drawing on my wall [which was very sweet].

Anyway, Dean came home again, last night after running away AGAIN, shivering. I felt nothing, AGAIN. He apologized to my Dad, who immediately let him back in. Of course. 

So, the runaway took a shower, ate half the house, then passed out on the couch. I pretended to be asleep and woke up early[ish] the next morning.

I did not say goodbye to him, and did not fall asleep [as I usually do] on the plane ride back, though I am obviously overtired.

My Dad’s been texting and letting me know how much he misses me, and I miss him too. Nothing new happened other than a visit to some ghost-lady with my aunt, and I don’t ever wanna go back. Rip-off.

Oh, and Dean updated his Facebook status:

Poor Dean, his life is so hard and totally unfair.

What I learned: The farther away I am from problems, the less they exist.

Music: I’m A Pirate, You’re A Princess by PLAYRADIOPLAY!

I am a Shooting Star

It’s 1:31am [West Coast] as I type this. I am supposed to [or want to, at least] be asleep. I wanted to get up at 7am, so, yeah, there goes that plan.

Anyway. I just spent several minutes on our apartment’s porch; the sky was lovely. Stars surrounded me, flickering and simply being. It was a wonderful distraction from the desert cold, which, I must admit, is still nothing compared to SanFran’s nights. I was bummed the moon was blocked out by large monster pines, but the glow was still there, and so were the stars. 

My father came back from retrieving the runaway twenty minutes ago. I laid awake, expecting two sets of footsteps, but only heard the door shut after my father’s.

“Dad?” I called.

He went into his room.

“Dad?” I called, again.

His light turned on, flooding into the hall with a warm glow.

“Dad,” I say, practically shout. What happened? I don’t ask.

I learn that after my father picked him up, they indeed had a talk. “You have rules you have to follow,” my father would have said. Dean does not like these rules, such as going to school, not doing drugs, not using the n-word.

He must’ve left my father the moment the truck was parked in the garage. Off to the police station, where my Father had just brought him and Dean graciously treated the officers on duty [by which I mean he didn’t speak to them. At all].

He left, threatening and promising to go back to these same officers and say his father kicked him out. Again.

There is a possibility my father could be fined. The officers do not like this sort of drama.

I have never once been so thankful to be intoxicated [I drank the rest of the Baileys Irish Crème with dinner]. 

“I don’t want him walking the streets at night,” says my father. He grabs his keys and leaves without another word.

Ten minutes of tossing and I push myself out of bed, walk onto the porch, and look down the street. Is that Dad’s truck? No, that’s nothing you idiot.

“He’s gone. Again,” my father says the moment he comes through the door.

My father is pacing again. And again, I feel nothing.

What I learned: I am a shooting star in an asteroid field.

I guess I should try and sleep now.

The Last Day: Parte Tres

“Sarah,” knocks my father, “Sarah.” I had just turned the water off, damp blue towel hanging in front of me.

“Yeah?” I reply, alarmed. He was supposed to be asleep by now.

“Your brother’s at Adam’s house.”

“What?” I can’t understand him.

“Your brother’s at Adam’s house,” he repeats, and I am somewhat relieved but refrain from saying anything along the lines of ‘I told you so’.

“I’m going to get him,” announces my father.

Five minutes later I’m washing dishes, pajama’d up, Dad’s letting me known Dean’s stoned out of his mind and slept on the streets last night. Dad apparently told Adam, my brothers ‘best bro’, that Dean had a warrant out [in reality it was a runaway report in the SDPD system, and is that even the same thing?]. And Adam called my cell, but I was in the shower, rested from eating my favorite meal and watching Iron Man with my father. 

“Your brother’s mentally ill,” says my father by the front door. He’s about to leave and pick the runaway up, something he’s had the pleasure of doing several times. I can’t help it, I snap.

“Poor Dean,” I reply in a voice that isn’t supposed to be heard, but is, because I feel nothing for my brother.

Dad’s face makes me wish I hadn’t said anything. He’s tired, his eyes are red—had he been crying?—and he goes on how I’m his sister.

“I am his sister,” I say, not looking at my father’s face. “I’m not his mother. He’s a mentally ill drug abuser with PTSD."

I don’t hesitate in what I say next.

“He’s just going to do it again. He always does.”

Dad leaves, I place the dishes in the sink to soak. I should probably do them before he gets back, but no, I hopped onto my laptop, checked Facebook, then starting writing on my stupid fucking blog that no one reads just so I don’t sit and think. Think. I don’t want to anymore.

And now my eyes are watering. I need to go do the dishes now. Keep busy, keep busy.

What I learned: I will always love my brother, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him or be in his life. 

Music: Angels on the Moon by Thriving Ivory

Dean will be home soon. He will be high. He will have a long talk with my father on the ride back, and won’t want to talk to me. He will go to bed and might say goodbye to me tomorrow, before I leave. Maybe my Dad will make him go to the airport with us. But, I know he will definitely have nothing to say to me, he won’t be able to look me in the eyes. Good thing too, because for once, I have nothing to say to him.

The Last Day: Parte Dos

So, I fell asleep, and for an interrupted nap…I’ve had better. I also have a headache.

Dean didn’t come home. None of his friends [that I’ve spoken to] know where he is. My Dad’s gone off to SDPD to place a report in [missing persons or a runaway, I don’t know?].

So, yeah. I’m real groggy despite the cheerful valley-girl voice I used on the phone to speak to his “friends”. Not a pang of anxiety or guilt has pressed on my chest, which is unfortunately untrue for my father. 

If he gets a heart-attack next week, I’d like to go on record for saying I love my father, and I’m sorry for this [and I’m sorry his two children are such a disappointment]. Sure I’m in art school and getting good grades, but I’ve yet to separate from him financially. And there’s also the fact that I’m a bitch…well, not always. I’ve cut back a lot since I’ve left MA [and I have enough sense/fear not to swear around my Father. Oh, and I don’t lie [a lot], cheat, and/or steal. So.].  

Whatever. I’m going undercover on Facebook [well, more like stalking. Undercover sounds cooler] and tracking down Dean’s friends’ cell numbers. Even if he’s not with them, at least the word will be out that' he’s missing. That’s the least I can do for my father. I’m leaving tomorrow, after all.

What I learned: Like my brother, I too don’t care [sometimes. In this case, at least].

Peace out.

Update later if there’s anything to update about.

The Last Day: Parte Uno

I wasn’t sure if I should report on my last full day in San Diego, especially since it’s not over. Half of it’s already gone, and I shall miss not shivering in my sleep.

My Father woke me up around 9:30am, so I got a good three hours of shuteye, then begged for another hour which consisted of me laying in bed and listening to him breaking the Dean news to my Grandmother [his mother, age 81] back in MA.

We went food shopping, so wearing a low-cut shirt and my skinny jeans was a mistake. Every creep [non-good looking, mind you] checked me out, so I decided to have a bit of fun and used what Sign Language I learned over the summer and utterly confused some. It was quite a triumphant moment. 

Also, in line I chatted with two older women about Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise [and how fucking crazy Tom is], then Nicole Kidman [and Keith Urban], then Lindsay Lohan. My Dad just pretended to read a cooking magazine or something. People always end up in some sort of conversation with either of us. We’re totally sociable.  

I felt bad talking to my Grandmother earlier today. I could hear the sadness in her voice. I know she blames herself and I know my Dad wants his “son” back. I’m guiltless when it comes to my own feelings, because for once I’m being honest.  

My Dad’s been upset [and out of it, so to speak] all day. Before we went food shopping he talked to my brother’s school’s police officer, and I guess there’s a chance he might come home tonight.

I do not want him back.

After putting the food away, we [my Dad and myself] went for a walk by the Naval Base in San Diego. He asked if I wanted to go on the docked makeshift museum-ship, and I asked if there were any cute cadets. So. We skipped the museum tour.

For the rest of the day I plan on relaxing and watching The Onion’s channel on Youtube:

“The fucking piece of shit is available now.”

I might doodle something, well, I always doodle [at least once a day, it’s impulsive], but  I haven’t been able to draw the way I wanted to since I’ve arrived, back in mid-December.

What I learned: My Dad has and always will love my brother unconditionally.

And I shall type the statement again; I do not want him back.

Dean, you bastard. Go away and take your flat-brimmed hats with you.  

Bury This

You know, I've become emotionally insensitive to my brother and father. I'm not afraid to type this and fling it on the web, either, because neither of them have the capacity to comprehend my ability to actually update a blog. OHH BIG LONG SENTENCE. No matter, another dramatic twist has erupted and threatened to consume me once more [welcome to my life].

My brother was approximately one hour and twenty-eight minutes late. He could have called, but didn’t. He doesn’t have his own phone because he’s sold and/or broken the last five my father’s unconditionally bought him. Still, all my brother’s friends have phones, and he uses them often [sometimes to call me to see if my father’s awake so he can sneak it].

My brother is most likely with his friends, or a girl, or all of the above while smoking a joint or drinking vodka mixed in soda. Hey, we were all teenagers once, right? Right. Right…

There are so many family secrets I keep re-discovering [because I've mentally blocked quite a few], and so many questions that will never be answered. Perhaps it's better that way, or perhaps I need to stop blogging and sit down with my father and ask "why did this happen?". Such an open-ended question, might have to scratch that.

Anyway, back to my brother. His name is Dean, after Dean Martin, but I tell him he’s named after James Dean for a number of unrelated reasons.

My Dean is 15, tall, dark, and somewhat handsome [well, all his short-lived girlfriends think so, despite his baby-face and round nose and skinny body]. He is also failing his sophomore year of high school. He lies, he cheats, he steals, he smokes weed and drinks; everything I was revolted and attracted to [in an glorified idealistic sense] in high school. I thought doing crazy things was cool, funny even, but seeing my brother high and vomiting has altered my mindset significantly.

A year ago I was a senior on the other side of the country when Dean, aided by a friend and said friend’s mother, ran 3,000 miles away, went to court, and placed a false police report against my father. Basically, the friend’s mother wanted custody of Dean for his SSI number, because she’s on welfare and was losing her house [and you can’t make that shit up]. That woman was very similar to Dean and mine’s own mother, who I will refer to as Mommy Dearest, but still, he went to court and lied and my father spent 5k on flying from MA to CA + lawyers + court expenses. That’s just one of the many things he’s done, and one of the many things I can never forget, mainly because I had to go to court myself.  

And then Dean hands his keys to my father an hour and twenty-eight minutes after he’s supposed to be home. He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t say anything, just leaves. My Dad locks the door after his footsteps silence. 

I don't like who my brother’s become. We're familiar strangers, though that term can be applicable to all my family relations. Even so, our relationship consists of him belittling me, harassing me, borderline threatening me. People say this is 'normal' teenage behavior. Really? I suppose this depends on how you describe 'normal', but even so I do not like it. I am hurt, I am done.

I will return to San Diego this summer, briefly, but I've made my father promise that if I am uncomfortable I have permission to leave. Whether he sticks to this promise remains up in the air, but even so I realize how important it is that I see my father. I am his firstborn, his only daughter, and probably [and unfortunately] his only child. I have a lot to live up to, and my father deserves to have at least one respectful offspring.

Hopefully Dean won’t come back, though I am thinking of writing him a brief goodbye note before I return to San Francisco and throw myself into school. He doesn’t deserve my tears or concerns. He doesn’t deserve my father’s love and attention and money.  

What I learned: I don’t know my brother anymore, and I don’t want to know him.  

I could go on, but I won't; the phone is ringing, Dad picks up. His voice is worried, muffled. I have to make sure he stays calm. I don't want to lose my only parent to my only brother. I don't want to lose myself, either.

Batman Forever + Baileys

Did you know when you pour a fourth of Baileys Irish Creme in a full [Slurpee] cup of Pepsi Max, that the creme will rise to the top and clot in floaty bits? It takes about five to ten minutes, but tastes all the same despite looking like rotten milk. Yum.

This drink goes great with Batman Forever and/or Batman and Robin. I am so thankful for Christopher Nolan, because after I seriously got into comics in high school I simply could not watch any of the previous Batman movies [well, enjoy them at least]. I really liked Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman in Burton's second movie, and that was about it. Sure she was a psychotic cat-lady [which Selina has been in the comics, depending on what writer was working on her at the time], but it was a hell of a lot better than Halle Berry. Seriously, Halle, first Storm then Catwoman?

And, I do enjoy Tommy Lee and Jim Carrey in Batman Forever. Whoa, oh my God, Chris O'Donnell was gorgeous back then, though Chris Evans is the better Chris as of now. Hi-ho Silver, Captain America. ;-)

I wonder how this concoction will mix with the Benadryl I took approximately I don't know how many minutes ago [probably 40, I never time things unless fire is involved]. Boy Baileys makes the soda go flat. Do not try that unless incredibly bored, as I am.

Oh, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail is on, but I've come to a point where I only wanna see the killer bunny part.