from an objective outside-in viewpoint ive had a good week. if anything this just compounds the guilty/tragic feeling associated with joy. my Mom used to take me to arcades and we'd spend the entire time playing 2-person shooters; even though they didnt pay tickets, so we never won anything, we could play them together and that was enough for us. this weekend my Dad took our family to an arcade. i had fun in the sense that i kept my mind clear. i played 2-person shooters with my Little Brother for a moment while we were there. after, i sent some photos of the event to my Grandmother; shes been worried about us since my Mom's passing and ive been worried about her. i shouldnt have messaged her. all she can do now is generate reminders of our grief. she saw kids playing soccer, my Mom's sport. all she could do was cry when she saw that. it makes sense why my Grandmother is like this, her grief is larger than mine. my Grandfather passed soon after my Mom. i dont morn him. he wanted a part of me dead, and he ignored when i told him that that part of me was all i am. my Grandmother is vacationing in the Bahamas. blowing away what would have been my Grandfathers retirement fund.

in a lot of ways im jealous. in a few ways im relieved. at least i know even if i wasnt stuck in this dogshit town in still be unhappy.

in a lot of ways im terrified. my Dad has gotten sick today, and thats all it took for my Mom to die. i know he had the same addictions she did.

in a lot of ways im curious. addiction is going to run in my family until my generation dies. i want to know a part of the joy they felt, i want to know why they were willing to throw their lives away for it, i want to know why it was good enough for them to leave me rotting in foster care until i was 13.

in a lot of ways im terrified. when i was 10 i had to clean up after them when they shot up. i had to find their bodies rotting on a sheetless mattress after they smoked a gram each. i had to bring the pliers to my Dad so he could rip his teeth out before they rotted to the point he couldnt remove them on his own. i had to feed my 4 siblings as my parents both sweated out their own feces. i had to mediate arguments when they ran out of heroine. i had to fight off their dealer when he offered i could pay for my parents to have week of free 'medicine' if he could use me how he wanted to. i had to live through 3 years of foster care, where i begged God to allow me back to my old life because anything was better than how the foster family treated me. i cant go back to that life, and i cant go bac to that life willingly. i wish i knew my dad felt the same, because as of now im terrified hell push us all right back to it.

once for my birthday my aunt took me on a farm tour. the farmer raised sheep; they would play in the yard and seemed so happy that the joy was infectious. inside, he showed off some of his roving and fleece hed harvested. i found a beautiful flat sheet of woolen curls and spent the majority of his explanation of how they shear the sheep absentmindedly petting it. when he came over to the sample and lifted it i realized it was sheep skin. he explained that the only way to get high quality sheepskin was to make sure the sheep was happy up until the very moment it died. God i wish that was me