What am I going to do about my present situation? My sanity’s in dire straits. I damn sure am not going to confide in family. I mean what the fuck for? Isn’t it a little late to patch up old wounds? A lot of shit has been left unsaid. But some how i manage to disguise it in bitter jokes and manage to give off this cynical charm like: “this shit is so much old news that It doesn’t bother be now. It’s soooo … water under a bridge… that I’m cool on it.” I make the little comments like “Knives without forks give me flashbacks” –accompanied by a chuckle— reminiscent of the days when strangers imprinted large brown welts on my otherwise smooth flesh to get me to practice “proper” table etiquette. Or maybe she beat me to break me. Maybe she didn’t like my twelve year old pride and dignity and saw it as a sign of insolence. Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe they didn’t like that i was different. They all knew it . They just never liked it, never accepted it. Never accepted my strong will so, She, Her, They — had to break it. Maybe because of them I still can’t find my place in this world and because of them I fulfill each whim as if it were my last wish. I’ve realized that whims do not an identity make. Having gone from the gothic Bohemian AfroJamerican black Daria in high school to the brazen alcoholic young adult post high school to the raging quick-tempered shrew in later years to the utterly monotonous(which can sometimes be mistaken for soothing) shell of my former self (whoever she was). Truth of the matter is I want to be angry but all I can feel is self-pity.