April 12, 2024
Friday
9:30am
Commissary day. We should be shopping soon.
10am
Daisy’s mother is in the hospital. Daisy wants to send two of her sons to the Milton Hershey School to ease her mother’s burden. She has five of her seven children.
Burgundy is saying the word “faggot” over and over again. She won’t say “penis,” but she’ll say “faggot.”
Daisy’s ex-husband is in jail for raping their 12-year old daughter. Her situation just seems to keep getting worse. I tried to tell her about EMDR for PTSD, so her daughter could cope better, but Burgundy interrupted with her story about overcoming obstacles with God and karma and other bullshit.
Does it really make people feel better that others are going to “get theirs” from the Universe or whatever?
Do they think revenge heals?
It doesn’t.
And it doesn’t happen that way for everybody, either. Nothing bad ever happened to my step-brother, who sexually abused me and my sister for six years.
And would it have made me feel better if something awful happened to him?
No.
2pm
I called my lawyer–no answer. I called my parents–my father answered. He says they’re not using my mental illness to punish me and they’ll call CRISIS next time.
Oh good.
Daisy says I look sad today.
I am sad.
On the radio:
“You don’t look a day over fast cars and freedom…”
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