I woke up at like 11 this morning. Wasn’t at all hungry, so I skipped lunch. I baked some spicy chicken breast for dinner. Unfortunately, I got a sweet tooth and had a couple of cookies after dinner, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as my cheat a couple of days ago. 30 carbs today vs. 150 carbs then. Tomorrow I’m gonna get some berry’s at Walmart so I can get that sweetness without tanking my diet.
My sister told my dad I was drinking tea in my room (he doesn’t let us eat or drink in our rooms) so now I’m grounded. It took all of my willpower to refrain from informing him of Chelsea’s hidden candy stash, not to mention the carton of cake frosting she keeps in her nightstand under her books. But I did confront her on the way to my room and let her know that if she decided to throw me under the bus again, she’d get her just desserts.
I don’t understand what his deal is with tea. Sure, food and sodas are super conducive to pests, but I don’t even take sugar or milk in my tea. I just drink it as it is, hot and delicious. Not to mention how I completely abuse the caffeine to get me through all-nighters. I hate coffee, so tea is my best friend.
He also doesn’t understand the concept of phobias. I’m terrified of needles and heights. He likes to try and force it out of me by forcing my into those situations. He takes me out to blood drives so I can get experienced with needles. I wish I was the kind who could faint from them, because when I get the jitters from needles, I throw up. I remember the first time we went, and I told him, “I’m gonna throw up! Please let me up!” And he insisted that I was fine and they put the needle in and I threw up all over myself and on the nurse’s arm. They told my dad to take me home and not to force me to do it anymore. He didn’t listen. I still vomit every time we go.
For my height phobia, we went to a waterpark. We had fun most of the day, but he decided he wanted to go on the ferris wheel with me. I begged him not to, and when we started going up, I started crying. We stopped at the top and he demonstrated the wheel’s gimmick: you could flip it upside down and all around. He kept doing it while I screamed and cried, terrified. We got out and I threw up all over the loading zone. My mom took me home immediately, against his wishes.
He’s convinced that these things he does are helping me, but I swear, they only make it worse. All I can remember is being a little kid, restrained against a metal chair while a sharp object forcibly took blood, and no one cared about how sick I felt. All I can remember is how much I wished the car would break and we would fall to the ground and die so that we wouldn’t be spinning around in the air anymore.
I know my dad loves me, and I love him, but I don’t like him at all. I don’t like who he is, and how he treats me. He dotes on my sister all the time, she’s her daddy’s little girl, and I’m the other one.
I like the life I live, but he makes that hard to do. When I say I want to do something I’m interested in, he just looks like I’ve just claimed the spot for Most Disappointing Child. The sooner I can move out, the better. He’ll finally be free to have fun with his favorite girl, and I’ll be free from his everything.
Didn’t mean to get all dark and depressing. I do like my life. I have two beautiful dogs, a great mom, and most of my friends are more than I deserve. It’s just the little things that tend to weigh all of that down.