Friday, 08/20/04 - 10:56 pm.
I could certainly detail moment by moment my day, today, the day in which my fourth semester at the university started. It was great seeing my four friends again, Angie, Victoria, Irene and Victor. And it was wonderful seeing Joseph, even if my dad made a frightening face when he recognized him, when he was dropping me off this afternoon (I thought he'd lecture me at night, "your boyfriend looks like a criminal, watch out who you hang out with" but he didn't say anything).
My first class is about psychodynamics, and it's shaping up to be my favorite. The professor is mexican and looks funny. Angie won't be taking that one with us, because her grades are not high enough and she needed to take another one she'd failed in a previous semester.
After that class we had an hour off, and so my three friends and Joseph and me went out to eat something, to celebrate Victor's birthday (that was a month ago). We decided we'll go out to eat something during our break, once a week. It kind of saddened me that Angie wasn't with us, but I saw the bright side. Angie and Victor have had a horrible post break-up time, and although sometimes they talk like good friends, I know they're still uncomfortable around each other.
My second and last class of the day...yes, usually I only have two classes a day. Three at the most. In my career, and another one, all classes are scheduled between 4:30 and 8:10 pm, no other time. It's supposedly for the ones who have a job (I wonder why they don't do the same with the other careers, then...not only psychology students have jobs...hell, I don't have a job, and I'm a psychology student). But there's a lot to read, so it isn't as easy as it sounds (even for me, who does not have a job).
The second subject, psychology of the learning (it's the best translation I can find), it's quite a drag. But at least I'm with the four souls, Angie does take that class with the rest of us, so all five of us just sit next to each other and doodle in the notebooks, quietly bursting in laughter. And we'll get to work with children. I'm very ambivalent about children. I kind of hate them sometimes, but they always end up winning me over.
I'm summing it all up to avoid boredom. I didn't get bored at all, but you might. It was great finally being able to see Joseph, I love him. I remember that the exact same day, a year ago, I was with 1, and when we saw each other, he hugged me really hard and told me "I've missed you". I didn't say it back, I didn't say anything. I always knew I was better off without him. But with Joseph it's different, and that's a big relief. I'm always scared I'll screw it up, that I'll stop feeling for him. It scares me when he says he thinks one day I'll be the one to break up our relationship. I don't need him to doubt me, I have enough of my own self-doubt. But just for the record, I don't want to break up with him. It'd be worse than it was with D., and that's saying a lot.
It was Carmen's first day of her new career (psychology), too. I didn't see her, luckily, but she sent me a text message when she got out of class. We exchanged a couple, and I discovered I liked her more as text message sender than as a person next to me. It's less unlikely that I'll get depressed that way.
Well, I keep saving my entries. I'm halfway through march 2002, and I came across an entry about my dad mistaking my concern for indifference, and how he made me feel like shit and so I spent the whole day crying. I've come to realize now that he's been always like that, and he'll always be, and that just makes me sad. He's been a jerk to my mom these last couple of days, over a stupid commitment on sunday. I don't really want to talk about this, because it makes me very mad. I cry when I hear him being stupid, and I wish I had the courage to walk in the room and stood for my mom, who's more a hero than a victim of his rudeness.
I guess I'd put him fifth on the list of the people who've hurt me the most in my life. You can't win with him, ever. I always have bad memories of him at my reach, and I begin to cry as soon as I remember. He seems to have a thing for making people, my mom especially, feel guilty about anything and everything (my mom knows better than that, bless the woman and her infinite strenght, but I fear she's breaking inside).
I already have a knot in my throat, just by thinking about all this, about him. I know he's had a rough life, but there's really no excuse. My mom is always very kind to him, and I've rarely seen him do something that makes me go: "wow, he's a good husband" (he writes her a lot of poems, and always thanks her for being with him through the toughest times...he loves her, but still, nothing has made me say "he's a good husban"). He doesn't hit her, he doesn't even yell at her. It's just that he's always so demanding. Yes, that's the word. Demaning. And impatient. And rude.
He's been a strong reason for wanting to kill myself, sometimes I think that's the only way to smack some sense into his head. "Look, dad, you're like this and like this, can't you see you hurt us?". I'd write a long letter about it, and then I'd kill myself. But I'd hate it to make him feel guilty. I'd like him to feel guilty over the way he treats us sometimes, not for my death (that's such a heavy weight). Mostly, I want to kill myself to run away from this ugly thing I feel, that can't be compared to any other pain I've ever suffered.
Even right now, I'd like to run to my room and bury my head in my pillow to sob (because I just remembered the soccer-on-tv, "you are so inconsiderate" episode) and cut my arms. I won't, I guess. It's no use crying, it's no use cutting. I once wrote a short story, called "the glass", about how angered I am by him sometimes, and how I displace all my anger to a glass on the table. I've always wished I'd dare, when he's being a jerk, to get a glass and throw it at him...not exactly at him, I don't want to hit him, no. I just want to get him to listen to me, and the shock of a glass breaking on the wall behind him could make him shut up and listen.