Well, this place gets more and more depressing and boring by the day.  The food is so horrible.  They track my depression based on my symptoms. They say me not eating is part of that.  Well, maybe feed us food that is not super gross and I might eat more... Just a thought... I have been living off saltine crackers and butter because it’s the only thing that is not totally disgusting. Even the juice taste weird. Maybe they are drugging it? They just want us all to be zombies and drooling on ourselves.  Would be a better deal then having to talk to my stupid ass group leader. God I hate that guy.  At least Doc is ok. Yeah, the journal stuff is not as bad as I made it out to be I guess. It doesn’t make me feel any better though. I just now have documentation of the fucked up shit I have lived through. But if it helps the adults to "get me" then I guess we will carry on with this....

 Lock up- the dui, jail and rehab in Utah- After the heart attack mom’s boyfriend went to rehab. I don’t really remember the full details, but he had stolen my mom’s car while on a bender of coke and alcohol and rolled the car. There was a fight and in the middle of the night. Which by then was a typical Friday night at our house. If he wasn’t home by a certain time, we just expected that there would be a fight when he finally stumbled in. My sister and I would hide in our bedroom with the dog guarding our bedroom door as they wandered the halls screaming at each other. I remember feeling somewhat relieved that I didn’t have any friends because who would want to come play at my house if this is what it is always like here. We never talked about what was happening. Mom always expected us to hide it from everyone. Until the night of the wreck. There was not hiding that in a tiny town. He was sent to jail for a while and then went to rehab in Utah somewhere. I remember being dragged to visit him there and in jail all the time. I would play with my hamster in his ball the visitor’s room while my mom cried during her visits through the row of weird phone booth things. The worse things got, the more mom just went downhill. She kind of stopped even bothering with us. After a while, teachers started to notice my sister and I were being neglected once again and my real dad’s family and my mom’s dad started talking about us getting taken away yet again.   For whatever reason that didn’t end up happening. I remember my mom dumping us at my cousins ghetto ass apartment a lot and us walking to the mall to play in the arcade that was done the street. She was out partying and rarely was around. If I think about it now, I don’t see why she didn’t just let them have us. But then I remember, she was getting death benefit check for each of us every month so her party fund would have dried up if we weren’t with her.  I sometimes wonder if things would have been better off for me if they had. Or even if my godmother would have taken us away a few years before that. She was the closest thing I had to a grandmother since my mom’s mom was never around. I didn’t like her much so that didn’t bother me. Dad’s crazy mom had died before I ever got to meet her. So, she would have been the best person to take me in. She was after all my godmother and that was her job as such to take care of me. But that glimpse of hope dimmed and I was stuck there still with nothing but the dog there to guard my door at night. It seemed like every time someone tried to protect us, it failed and there I was just destine to live in a dark room crying and hoping that the horrors outside my bedroom door would not get past my fearless dog.

Next Chapter: Entry Seven