I never asked for a normal life….
Well, I did, when I was about 10. I asked my mom why she didn’t name me Jennifer. I think your name defines who you are. With a name like India…why am I always surprised I am the way I am.
I’ve been thinking since last night…way into the night….I was up until about 6. Not because I couldn’t sleep but because I didn’t want to.
Do you ever have a lump so big in your throat that you can’t swallow it but you can’t scream it out either? This is where I am.
After much thought…and a lot of tears…I’ve come to find that my last post is bullshit.
There is a fine line between drama and caring….I always thought I was caring…now I’m not so sure.
Why do I do the things I do….why do I follow the people I follow? Is it because I care about them…or I just simply need something to talk about. Is my life that hollow that I need to fill it with something?
Oh poor India….she didn’t have a father figure…who gives a shit…right? People are beaten to death…stabbed for nothing…children are starving…the world is falling apart as I type.
And I didn’t have a Dad….fucking tuff shit…buck it up sister.
DD….well who’s fault was that? That would be mine. I could have just walked away….but didn’t. Yeah I have stories that I haven’t told here. I’ll give you an example. This is the story that finally made me break it off…this was the ending.
Someone gave the lunatic a fucking machete on a moving job.
Just for the record…never give anyone a knife…because sometimes you just don’t know who you’re giving it to.
He brought it home and was very proud of it, I in turn, was terrified. I saw visions of me being…well…beheaded. And if you think I’m fucking kidding about this shit…think again.
So the games began…“Hide the machete”…as I fondly remember calling it. I’m the one hiding it….and he’s the one trying to find it in a drunken coke over. He found it almost every time….after ripping me to shreds and ripping the house apart…he would find it or I would give it back to him. The final straw for me, the last time I relented and gave it back was when he sat on the edge of the bed flicking it with his finger…so it made this very quiet, very disturbing, tink….tink….tink. I finally…FINALLY realized at that point exactly what I was dealing with…someone that could end my life, and more than likely would...in one way or another.
He passed out soon after that. I took the machete next door to my neighbor’s house (who is a friend) and said “Please get rid of this”. That thing is now in oblivion. You know something funny? The last time DD was here which was a few months back…he was still looking for it.
Why did I tell this story you might ask, to decide if I am caring or dramatic. Would you care about someone that fucked up? Most people wouldn’t. So the question still looms…did I go though 9 years to have stories to tell….or was I just that fucking stupid?
This has been an ongoing trend for me….since he left. I’ve encountered a lot of people that take what they want from me and simply walk away. I’m left standing, with my arms out, and wanting to scream…”What did I do?”…but I’m silent.
See…I don’t like to cause problems…make any waves…I want people to like me….but they seldom do. Maybe that’s why I only have 3 friends. They are the only ones that can withstand my bullshit.
I have made my life what it is…I know this and I’m not denying any of it. But why did I have to make such a Fucking mess of it.
Because my name is India...maybe…who fucking knows, right?
I think I’m caring to a point that is sometimes over the edge of reality….I think I’m dramatic to a point that I want to tell everyone else in the world these stories (surprised I blog?). I guess I’m standing on that fine line.
So I guess that answers my question. I’m just walking that fine line.
I can tell you one thing though…if there’s a bully within a 1 block radius of me…I will sure as shit find them…or they will find me.
I’ve always been leveled by people…I don’t understand them. Hell, I don’t even understand myself but I know one thing. I would give you the shirt off my back any day of the week.
BUT….if you keep asking me to do it….I might grow tired….and the only one that’s hurt in the end…is me.
And I just keep doing it to myself.
I’ve been thinking since last night…way into the night….I was up until about 6. Not because I couldn’t sleep but because I didn’t want to.
Do you ever have a lump so big in your throat that you can’t swallow it but you can’t scream it out either? This is where I am.
After much thought…and a lot of tears…I’ve come to find that my last post is bullshit.
There is a fine line between drama and caring….I always thought I was caring…now I’m not so sure.
Why do I do the things I do….why do I follow the people I follow? Is it because I care about them…or I just simply need something to talk about. Is my life that hollow that I need to fill it with something?
Oh poor India….she didn’t have a father figure…who gives a shit…right? People are beaten to death…stabbed for nothing…children are starving…the world is falling apart as I type.
And I didn’t have a Dad….fucking tuff shit…buck it up sister.
DD….well who’s fault was that? That would be mine. I could have just walked away….but didn’t. Yeah I have stories that I haven’t told here. I’ll give you an example. This is the story that finally made me break it off…this was the ending.
Someone gave the lunatic a fucking machete on a moving job.
Just for the record…never give anyone a knife…because sometimes you just don’t know who you’re giving it to.
He brought it home and was very proud of it, I in turn, was terrified. I saw visions of me being…well…beheaded. And if you think I’m fucking kidding about this shit…think again.
So the games began…“Hide the machete”…as I fondly remember calling it. I’m the one hiding it….and he’s the one trying to find it in a drunken coke over. He found it almost every time….after ripping me to shreds and ripping the house apart…he would find it or I would give it back to him. The final straw for me, the last time I relented and gave it back was when he sat on the edge of the bed flicking it with his finger…so it made this very quiet, very disturbing, tink….tink….tink. I finally…FINALLY realized at that point exactly what I was dealing with…someone that could end my life, and more than likely would...in one way or another.
He passed out soon after that. I took the machete next door to my neighbor’s house (who is a friend) and said “Please get rid of this”. That thing is now in oblivion. You know something funny? The last time DD was here which was a few months back…he was still looking for it.
Why did I tell this story you might ask, to decide if I am caring or dramatic. Would you care about someone that fucked up? Most people wouldn’t. So the question still looms…did I go though 9 years to have stories to tell….or was I just that fucking stupid?
This has been an ongoing trend for me….since he left. I’ve encountered a lot of people that take what they want from me and simply walk away. I’m left standing, with my arms out, and wanting to scream…”What did I do?”…but I’m silent.
See…I don’t like to cause problems…make any waves…I want people to like me….but they seldom do. Maybe that’s why I only have 3 friends. They are the only ones that can withstand my bullshit.
I have made my life what it is…I know this and I’m not denying any of it. But why did I have to make such a Fucking mess of it.
Because my name is India...maybe…who fucking knows, right?
I think I’m caring to a point that is sometimes over the edge of reality….I think I’m dramatic to a point that I want to tell everyone else in the world these stories (surprised I blog?). I guess I’m standing on that fine line.
So I guess that answers my question. I’m just walking that fine line.
I can tell you one thing though…if there’s a bully within a 1 block radius of me…I will sure as shit find them…or they will find me.
I’ve always been leveled by people…I don’t understand them. Hell, I don’t even understand myself but I know one thing. I would give you the shirt off my back any day of the week.
BUT….if you keep asking me to do it….I might grow tired….and the only one that’s hurt in the end…is me.
And I just keep doing it to myself.
posted by iamfallingfromgrace at 2:46 PM
1 Comments:
your name, india, is the most beautiful name of anyone i know, and probably because you are such a beautiful person. (whether you want to admit it or not; or whether you believe it or not; or whether dd knocked you down so many effing times that you can't know it) if you were a jennifer.. weird, you'd probably be some boring-ass housewife watching wheel of fortune before heading out to some tupperware party. b.o.r.i.n.g. i love your name and i love you.
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