Guilt...

Word on the street is that I am getting a mega increase in foodstamps this month. My housemate is now getting $114, which is about 4 times what I had been getting. I assume I'll get something close to that figure. It is definitely cause for celebration.

The city trip was awesome. There is soo much to do in NYC. I want to go back in the spring for the butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. It hadn't started yet while we were in the city. It starts October 13th and lasts through sometime in May. While we were there we went to the Central Park Zoo, took a horse carriage ride, and had dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

My mother had said she would take me to see the movie Nights in Rodanthe when it came out. Now she is saying that I should try to go with my sister. I want to see it mainly because I read the book and I find adaptations to be pretty interesting. If I go with my sister, I will have to pay for my own ticket, whereas my mom might have paid for mine. I also doubt my sister will want to see the movie; it doesn't seem like her type of movie. She is more of a horror fan.

I am waiting to hear back from my friend to see if I am going out tonight. My friend will probably not call me back until she gets out of her job. The time of that can vary, but I should know in an hour most likely. We have a habit of meeting up at Applebees once a week. It is always late in the evening when we go.

I can't help but feel a tinge of guilt for having posted about my childhood. I don't want to portray my parents as all evil. My mom was always concerned about other people thinking she was a bad mother. Part of me feels sad that she worried about that, but part of me doesn't believe that was genuine. I think that she might have said that often to make me feel guilty for going to therapy because she tended to say that when she picked me up from my therapy appointments. It was pretty clear she didn't like me going to therapy; she would always ask me if I still felt like I 'really needed' it on our way home from the school that they were doing therapy out of. My mom has her nice moments, and my dad's been sober for almost 12 years now. I think that is what I struggle with the most- the inconsistency in the way my mother treated me. Like I said she had her nice moments, amongst all the bad moments. It made me kind of love her and hate her at the same time. That itself, the love/hate thing, is pure torture. It makes me feel like my head is splitting.