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22 December 2008 @ 11:30 pm
I've noticed I lack the enthusiasm to be optimistic.

It's quite simple of a philosophy I've come up in my head.
Why have high hopes with the chances of getting let down when you can completely not hope for anything at all and not be let down when the time comes?

If you're already at the bottom, then what disappointments can be done to sever you even more?

I guess that's what you call pessimism. Go me for reinventing the wheel.

So my sister has gotten on her high horse again and decided to take a stab at me for smoking hookah and drinking.
She's the close minded version of me I was when I was 16... but worse and more contradictive. Her escapades with her boyfriend I'm sure have escalated more than just making out, and she utterly defends her image with this devout, almost religious worship, of not touching anything that can be deemed a vice.
Such as cigarettes and alcohol.
And woop-de-doo her big fucking sister is the total opposite of that now.

She reminds me of a little castro, dictating anything she can with her grasping hands. While in the meantime protecting her image to my family with such ferocity it rivals that of a chihuahua and/or rotweiler. Hey, either one has a protective personality.

I wouldn't be writing about this if this didn't have a specific reason.
She's been telling my impressionable younger sisters that I have been doing "bad" things and how it's turning me into a "bad" person.
My little brother is just waiting for a reason to not talk to me, that 9 year old little shit will believe anything my sister says. Just because I'm not there, does not mean I am still not the eldest.
You would think my mother and father would condemn me for these sorts of actions, but they know that I'm really not to be controlled at this point in time.

And throughout all of this I'm contemplating my role in the whole situation and my guard on my freedom.

I realize that I have become obsessed with the idea of freedom.
As a teenager the urge to push for more freedom than I was given was a drive that overpowered any obstacle I had to overcome at the time. I didn't want to go buck wild, although I am thankful that I was not allowed at the parties my friends were at because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have controlled myself responsibly and as well as I do now in situations. But still, I still feel the needy grasp of my grandparents and the bewildering disappointment stare from my family members other than my father that haunt me from day to day. It's quite a calamity in my head when in all actuality it's just the psychological damage that my family has bestowed on me.
I really haven't pushed myself to the limit here at ASU.
I know what I can and cannot do, but it's the feeling that I still feel entrapped, even at 300 miles from bullhead. I still feel the morals clinging to my bones from the days of brainwashed states of mind in going to catholic churches. Those smelly pews and books written in odd numbers that bothered me from the day I saw them. The tired priest in his utterly irritated stated, and always shaking hands after mass and greeting eveyone with a smile as to say "Fuck you. And you and you. Oh and you, I know who you fucked last night."
Sometimes I thought of him not to be the devil himself, but somewhat related. The man must be corrupt now, hearing every devout catholic's confession from bullhead city, arizona. If anything, I'm glad to say all of my confessions to that man was done in one session. And it consisted of apologizing for putting tobasco sauce in my stepmother's shampoo along with toothpaste in her soap. I was 12 and revenge was my name.

But when it comes to freedom, I never felt free amongst my family. Even now when I am 20 years old they still flip out on me for not calling. This obligation I have seems to bog me down when I yearn for the feeling to call them not out of obligation, but out of habit and want. I do this with my father, and for some reason my mother. Those two are the only two I really call without any urge to censor myself.
There is a sort of peace that I've settled into over this year. I've told my mother more than I had to, and though she has judged me, she still calls to have a bit of girl talk with me more than once a month.
My father asks me about my random parties and if I was safe or not. He even explains to me in confidence about his past escapades and his drug use. It's this openness that attracts me to be closer to them in the end.

When it comes to the old fashioned ways of my grandparents, that is reflected through the eyes of my undercontrolled over zealous sister, I gag at the thought of not carrying a conversation for more than 4 minutes. I can round up everything about school, jobs, and studying all in those 4 minutes and then an awkward silence comes around to haunt the conversation with my grandparents.

I can be close with them.
But they will never know me.

It's black and white like that.

It's saddening to think that my sister and I used to be so close; at one point in time best friends.
But her judgemental being is a rough one, and as openminded as she thinks she is, she's still naive.
Although I don't think she is as naive as she looks or acts. She's been with her boyfriend for three years, and she lies to my father over and over again when he bluntly knows what she's up to.

Oh dear sister, how I hope you know how much you're hurting your own father.

There's a lot of bitter undertones going with this post, but when is there not?

I just don't appreciate my younger siblings growing up without me thinking of me as some immoral character in their lives. Maybe I am, but that doesn't override the things I stand for: get an education and LIVE only for the sake of happiness. And they're still to young to get that, but I'm sure they'll be smart enough to understand that in a few years.

I've been sad this year, but never have I felt so secure of myself. Of who I am, of what I'm doing; never have I ever been so content with the thought of not knowing where my life will lead to and who I will meet.

But I'm excited for it.