Happiness

Athena.

Athena. I had a job at a hotel restaurant. Not a big one, and for the most part I was the only server. It was month later, and my supervisor wouldn't give me my god damn tip ticket, so I could get tips. 1 month. It takes about a week, and my stupid Hindu accented, stuck up in his imaginary palace, was the all knowing all dancing fucknut who just wouldn't give me my ticket. The job wasn't hard. And for someone to tell me that I couldn't to an easy job, was total bullshit.

I sat in my car, after one of the cooks, a swedish tall guy just wouldn't stop yelling at me because I couldn't grab a piece of wax paper that was stuck to another piece of wax paper. I cried. Athena was on the other line as I cried. I told her God doesn't like me, that I just could not get a break, that he's keeping me from doing anything. It doesn't matter how long and how hopeful I was in the church. I was still a monster. I cried. Maybe you should be nicer to people, she said.

* * * * *

Tonight, I stood idle while my brother pushed his girlfriend around in the living room. The minute I saw his arm cock back I jumped up, but he dropped it. I stood there doing nothing, standing with my arms crossed in the dark. I was eating chicken at the dining room table awhile later, just watching him yell, and criticize, and verbally hurt his girlfriend, hugging her tightly as she cried so that she couldn't get away. And tell the cops.

I just wanted to go back to playing guitar. I didn't do anything, just watched and waited for him to hit her. Why not stop it? Why not call the cops? Because he's my brother, and she chose to be here with him. This isn't the first time, this is just part of a long line of events that both have to do with stupid people. I could fight him off, I could fight him off every time. But, I'm not willing to do that if she comes back the day after. It's stupid. I can't help but wonder though, how much of the stupidity runs in our family.

I'm not a violent person. Yeah, I thought seriously about killing hundreds of children in my middle school. I was the poor kid. I was also 12. A lot happened since middle school. But, still, as the reverberation of my brother yelling strung deep into my ears, I just wonder how much of that violence is still in me.

I'm scared for me. I'm scared for the women that surround me. Why do people fight? Argue? Run away? The people on the forum say I can't live by my past, that I have to move forward. They also say if I convey these tendencies, it'll turn off women. I'm not a monster. As much as God, church, friends, and family want me to be, I'm not. I should write it in big letters across my walls.

Why do they deserve happiness, and I don't.