Friday, September 18, 1992
Yesterday I got a tape from Fran. It was a letter one she didn’t feel like writing. Anyway I was so happy to get the tape from her that I asked if I could send one back and my dad suggested that I invite her to sleep over during the weekend instead. I was so happy.
Then today I come home and my dad says I have to do all my homework for the weekend tonight if I want her to sleep over. I griped about it a lot and even my mom agreed with my dad.
So after dinner I was about to go into the other bedroom to do my homework when I go into my room (where my dad was playing Nintendo) and I told him I wanted to study in my room. He said I could when he finished playing and I got angry and I told him I would be up all night if I did (I did exaggerate a bit). I was so pissed that when I left the room I called him a hypocrite. He called me back into the room and asked me what I said. Finally he dragged it out of me and what did he say? Surprise, surprise!!! Fran couldn’t come over.
The weird thing about it is that my mom starts defending me saying Fran is coming over but later she comes into the room I’m in and starts yelling at me! As usual she threatened to leave so I would be all alone with him and would have to live just with him.
The thing I don’t understand is why she defended me when she probably agreed with him. She thought I was wrong anyway so why didn’t she just back him up and make him happy? Why is she disagreeing with him then yelling at me? Well I know I did deserve it.
“I ask myself too many times why don’t you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut?” (Annie Lennox, “Why”)
I’m used to getting my hopes up and then fucking things up.
To complicate matters further I think I’m beginning to like Will Davidson. I really don’t want to because he is IMPOSSIBLE to get. They all are. I ask Didi to hit my every time I think of him, or I dig my nails into my skin. LIFESUCKS!
Fran did not end up coming over.
I wish I could say this was a rare family occurrence, but I just chose not to write about them in my diary often. It was easier to stick to lighter fare, like crushes. The dynamic at home could be turbulent, and while being a smartass didn’t help matters, I know now there were circumstances that added to the tension which I had nothing to do with.
My parents tried to do their best. We all did. Let’s just leave it at that.
April 2, 1991
Nobody understands me! At least my parents don’t. They don’t understand that some things I want might seem minor to them but are important to me.
I really hate being so restricted! I know my parents love me, want the best for me, etc., etc., but they just don’t understand! (I know I’m being repetitive, but it’s for emphasis.)
It’s really strange, but by restricting me, they just force me to rebel. I don’t even feel guilty when I rebel, because I feel this is what my parents brought me to, so I feel justified.
Let the teenage clichés begin! The post above undoubtedly had to do with my parents infringing on my freedom in some way. At one point, when my grades started slipping, they forbade any social activity during the week. What they didn’t realize is that my grades started slipping because I was unhappy and lonely and thoroughly unmotivated to excel at school. They didn’t know that I was being teased by my classmates and getting into fights on the bus. They just knew what the report cards told them. Luckily I had my journal to vent my frustrations. Which I did with posts like these:
April 12, 1991
MY FUCKING PARENTS ARE MAKING MY F$%*ING LIFE A F#^&ING PRISON AND I DON’T EVEN F@*$ING DESERVE IT!
We are on the bus back.
Yesterday we had square dancing and I danced with Mitch and we held hands for the first time. His hands are really warm.
I also had a dream with Mitchell. I usually dream about a boy I like if I really like him.
Well anyway this was the dream and what I think everything stands for.
First I’m in this store buying an apple (not to eat but we have these kinds that are pins that we have to wear to school).
Then all of the sudden I’m at this small party. I guess Rose was the one that threw it. Well anyway we were all drinking seltzer (yuck!) and there was a song playing. It was New Kids on the Block “Please Don’t Go Girl.” Well Mitchell was just standing there. Then Rose comes up to me drags me over to a corner and says
“He’s really tough isn’t he?” and then the teacher wakes us up. Weird Huh?
Alert David Lynch, because he obviously has some strong competition for strange dream sequences.
For some reason, despite pronouncing myself an expert dream interpreter, I didn’t actually bother to interpret the dream in the diary entry. Twenty years later I can make a cursory guess at what it stands for. I rarely had any privacy with Mitch–or “Mitchell” (it made me feel more mature to call him that for whatever reason). I felt frustrated that our courtship was being stunted by the crowd of our classmates and developing an intimacy was proving difficult. Nevermind the fact that we had only been out on one date.
Either that or I loved my “cool” New Kids on the Block jeans so much, my subconscious brain was paying the price.