10:55 p.m. - 01/24/02
upstairs, I have blankets.
my mom just came in to say goodnight, at which point she asked me if I think I'm doing better these past few days. (translation: you seem ok to me but I know you're good at faking.) if only she knew how good. at least there are some people who are aware of where I'm truly at. though I've been thinking lately that if the stress just keeps building this way I can probably go into boxing professionally, as my muscles are *nearly* tight enough to break a person's knuckles through their gloves. my brother gave me a backrub once and asked if he was touching muscle or bone. and that was *weeks* ago.
ironic, isn't it, that my father is in the profession of fixing this (massage therapist) yet the only contact I'm comfortable having with him is antagonistic. for instance today, I put my hand on his neck as if to strangle him, so irritated was I with him. he'd asked me for the millionth time if I'm gay, so I decided it would be fitting to strangle him. the act only succeeded in giving me flashbacks to the night he tried to strangle my brother Joe, one of very few events that, in my year and two days of therapy, I've never let come up.
sometimes in my "leaving home" fantasies, I see myself in a court room hearing a judge ask if my parents have ever been physically abusive, and that scene- joe in the chair, his face red with anger and pressure and fear, me frozen in a corner, my dad's eyes so irrational they appear inhuman- flashes before me. what do you say to that? "well one time I thought he was going to kill my brother, but other than that he's very gentle."
yes that sums up my father pretty well. a volcano so "gentle" he appears inactive, but then, it is the nature of volcanoes to erupt, and one certainly cannot escape nature for *too* long.
if I thought I could *get* sleep, I'd tell you that's where I'm going now; since it's not much of a possibility, let's just say I'm sneaking up to my room, where I feel slightly less intrusive than down here...
goodnight.
chord
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