About a month ago I signed up for another account. It sat stagnant for a week or so. Then I ran across a template that I liked. And then a better one. Last week I added my first entry. The first thing I ever wrote. I was young. Innocent. Fresh. I was in love. Sure, I'd had a bad childhood, but that's what my family does best. Pack the pain away and keep smiling.

The next day, I added another one. This one was from a few years later. 17 years old and the gloss was wearing thin. My father got locked up again. My mom began shooting up. My boyfriend went off the deep end and wound up on heavy medication. My best friend came up pregnant.

Tonight I added my third. Coincidentally, it was from a year after that. My mom was heavy into heroine. We were living on welfare. My mom's boyfriend dealt drugs in our living room and pulled my 13 year old sister and I out of bed every other night to watch him beat my mom and lecture us on how to avoid becoming "stupid fucking bitches" like her. I hit my breaking point. I quietly acquired a full bottle of my mom's prescription sleeping pills, a full bottle of Southern Comfort, and a handful of razor blades. One night my sister stayed at a friend's house and my mom went out to "shoot pool" and it was time. And then a friend who never "just dropped by" happened to "just drop by". That was the summer I turned 16. 2 years later we were engaged. A year after that he was killed. And I wrote.

Anyways...I've been a little melancholy lately, towards around bedtime. What the hell is with that?

I've linked to my other journal. I called it frozen-vodka writes shit sometimes. It's over there under the heading "musings". I plan on adding bits to it as I take my little stroll down memory lane.

It's the changing of the seasons. That's the only way I can explain it.

By the way, just got news that my family is coming back early next week. Guess what that means? Hell yeah, party at my place Friday night! No strippers this time, sorry. But we do have plenty of booze, a large collection of music, and plenty of room to crash. *grin* Which means a handful of friends will show up and we'll argue over music, get drunker and drunker as the night progresses, beg each other not to call ex's, possibly bust out NC-17 Jenga, and yours truly will most likely end up sucking face with some random party-goer. Then we'll argue over who's the least drunk, who will then be responsible for making the midnight Mexican food run.

Sweet.

Added: link to musings.