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Objective complete.
Tuesday, 22 March 2005 17:12Well, I've been awake since 10 AM yesterday, but I made it safely into New Paltz. I write this from the computer lab at Scudder. When I arrived in Albany, my stepdad called, and we talked for 20 minutes. I thought he'd be peeved, but he was proud of me...he told me that my leaving was the right thing to do to clear my mind. He asked me to write what was on my mind, and send it to him. I shall be doing that, but not today. I've been awake for 31 hours, only getting brief dozes here and there. Today will be my recovery day, in which I hope to get a lot of sleep.
Now, what I didn't explain to you all last night was the final straw for me, where I decided to say, "fuck this shit, I'm out."
First, and this is incredibly minor and I doubt the validity of it, since the source was Rob: apparently, I'm now being viewed by David and family as the enemy, one of Bob's "informers." Now, even though I was not told this by any of David's kids, his wife, or himself, I felt hurt. After all I've done, after all the counsel, advice, and observations I have given and received, only to be called the "informer"?
But the biggest one--as I probably have mentioned, my cousin Jim, 16, is quickly following in Rob's footsteps on the way to being a pothead. This has increasingly worried me. This has been going on for some weeks. So, I felt it necessary to bring it up to his father, David, in private. And I did, but David seemed more focused on what was on TV than his son becoming a pothead...kind of gave me the acknowledgment of my existence, but giving me the brush-off. Apparently, it's ok for his son to posess an illegal substance and abuse it. So, a little miffed, I went downstairs, told Rob what happened, and then he admitted to me that it was his fault that Jim is becoming a pothead...Rob pressured Jim into doing it, gave in, and so Rob has started him on his way. And I had to leave the house. I walked for probably 4-5 miles, talking on the phone with April and crying for most of it. What the hell kind of moron gives a boy pot? This isn't the Rob I grew up with...I want my brother back. The one that had morals, before the prospect of sex took away his sense of morality. Rob thinks with his dick too damn much, and look what he's begun. Right now, I can't find it in my heart to forgive him. And so, I was very close to calling the police and have the potheads taken away--oh, that would've caused such a stir. But rather than that, I finally decided to up and leave. Which brings me here.
And so, after my chat with Bob, I no longer felt guilty about leaving the house at 4:30 this morning. And now I feel some happiness...quite a bit of it, actually. Oh, to be out of that mental hospital...it brings such joy to me. To me, New Paltz is home. Ramapo is home. 291 Old Barnstable Road is a mental institution. Home, to me, is a place where I feel wanted, loved, respected, and liked for who I am, and I bestow the same upon everyone I call friend. Home is where you are surrounded by all things good, and I find it here. I am really hoping to nab that apartment in Kingston, NY...there's a Wal-Mart a mile away, and NP is only 20 minutes away, very easily accessible by bus.
And so, I shall close with a familiar warning to a certain Canadian...should you wake me up tomorrow, I will have no choice but to hunt you down and cut off your testicles. (big cheesy grin)
So, yes, I'm ok. Fuckin' tired, but ok. Happy.
Now, what I didn't explain to you all last night was the final straw for me, where I decided to say, "fuck this shit, I'm out."
First, and this is incredibly minor and I doubt the validity of it, since the source was Rob: apparently, I'm now being viewed by David and family as the enemy, one of Bob's "informers." Now, even though I was not told this by any of David's kids, his wife, or himself, I felt hurt. After all I've done, after all the counsel, advice, and observations I have given and received, only to be called the "informer"?
But the biggest one--as I probably have mentioned, my cousin Jim, 16, is quickly following in Rob's footsteps on the way to being a pothead. This has increasingly worried me. This has been going on for some weeks. So, I felt it necessary to bring it up to his father, David, in private. And I did, but David seemed more focused on what was on TV than his son becoming a pothead...kind of gave me the acknowledgment of my existence, but giving me the brush-off. Apparently, it's ok for his son to posess an illegal substance and abuse it. So, a little miffed, I went downstairs, told Rob what happened, and then he admitted to me that it was his fault that Jim is becoming a pothead...Rob pressured Jim into doing it, gave in, and so Rob has started him on his way. And I had to leave the house. I walked for probably 4-5 miles, talking on the phone with April and crying for most of it. What the hell kind of moron gives a boy pot? This isn't the Rob I grew up with...I want my brother back. The one that had morals, before the prospect of sex took away his sense of morality. Rob thinks with his dick too damn much, and look what he's begun. Right now, I can't find it in my heart to forgive him. And so, I was very close to calling the police and have the potheads taken away--oh, that would've caused such a stir. But rather than that, I finally decided to up and leave. Which brings me here.
And so, after my chat with Bob, I no longer felt guilty about leaving the house at 4:30 this morning. And now I feel some happiness...quite a bit of it, actually. Oh, to be out of that mental hospital...it brings such joy to me. To me, New Paltz is home. Ramapo is home. 291 Old Barnstable Road is a mental institution. Home, to me, is a place where I feel wanted, loved, respected, and liked for who I am, and I bestow the same upon everyone I call friend. Home is where you are surrounded by all things good, and I find it here. I am really hoping to nab that apartment in Kingston, NY...there's a Wal-Mart a mile away, and NP is only 20 minutes away, very easily accessible by bus.
And so, I shall close with a familiar warning to a certain Canadian...should you wake me up tomorrow, I will have no choice but to hunt you down and cut off your testicles. (big cheesy grin)
So, yes, I'm ok. Fuckin' tired, but ok. Happy.
