Hey Mr. Bartender, Mix Me a Drink, I Really Need Something to Tell Me Its Okay Not to Think

I guess in some ways I got lucky with my family. Lucky. Haha if you knew me you'd know why thats ironic. Right now Im in my sisters clothes. A short sleeve shirt underneath a ripped up dark gray long sleeved shirt. Even though the pocket is falling off and the sleeves are stretched out, this is my favorite shirt in the world. Couldn't for the life of me tell you why. I guess its just the knowledge that this was my sisters, this belonged to her, and she loved it.
My sister is really my half-sister, and even though she is twelve years older than I am, we can fit into the same size clothing. My feelings about this fluctuate. Sometimes I am glad that I am able to have tangable items of hers to hold onto. Sometimes this makes me really upset.
I stopped talking to my sister awhile ago. I guess I got tired of it. She's a lot like my dad, which is an awful thing. I fear I'm a lot like my dad as well. This is scary.
Unfortunately, when I stopped talking to my sister, I lost all ways of contacting my dads side of the family. Including my brother whos really my half-brother.
This upsets me too. Because we don't talk about that side of the family. The last time I remember seeing them is when we went to see my grandma in the hospital. My dad wouldn't pay for my sister to fly to Canada so she could say goodbye. I don't remember much about the funeral, or the hospital. All I remember is being in the living room with my next door neighbor listening to music. My mom told me Delainey had to go home, and I asked for one more song. So she said okay. I still feel guilty about that. I remember being in the car, listening to my dad try to get ahold of his sister, my aunt. I remember no one would answer his calls and I remember him telling my mom "she may have already died." I don't remember how I felt about that.
I remember how being in the hospital and changing my baby doll, putting her in some pants because it was cold in Canada.
I remember a man looking down at me and saying "Your grandma may look a little different. Don't be alarmed." That scared me, because I imagined her to look like a stranger. When we got into her room, she looked the same as ever.
I remember cleaning out her refrigerator, and seeing that she had batteries in there. Appearently if you refrigerate batteries, they last longer. She was a smart lady.
I remember throwing a fit because I didn't want to wear those stupid black shoes to the funeral.
And I remember my cousins playing in the dirt, far away from me.
The only memory I have of my brother is eating dinner at the table and hearing him walk through the front door. I think it was cold. I think it was snowing. I remember my dad saying "Go give your brother a hug." I did.
I guess that must have been right before he left. He left when I was three, to go live with his mom. I know why now. Its a horrible story.
I don't think I feel as sad as I should that I'm not able to talk to him anymore. I don't think he ever really liked me. I don't blame him. I miss him, and love him, but am incapable of hating him for not having those feelings about me.
I only remember a few other things about my dads side of the family. The rest was told to me by my sister.
What I remember: I have a cousin named Zach and a cousin named Danny. My grandpa Tom owns a farm in Walsenburg. My sister and I went there when I was little, and a black cat had just had kittens. We played with them on the floor of the living room.
What was told to me: Grandpa Tom is rich. I have a ton of cousins. My uncle sells bikes to George W Bush, our old president. Aunt Sharon misses me. Once upon a time, I loved Aunt Sharon, Danny, my whole family. Once upon a time, they loved me back.
I used to say that when I was eighteen, I was going to find my family. I envisioned a huge reconcilliation, where they would be in tears and there would be lots of hugs and everyone would tell me they tried their very hardest to stay in touch but my mean awful parents wouldn't let them.
I don't want to visit anymore. Because the truth is, there is a lot of resentment in my family. And I'm in the middle of it. There probably wouldn't be any hugs, any tears. They probably would resent me for walking in and ruining their lives.
I hate talking about my family. I hardly ever do it anymore. My friends would always tell me "I'm sure thats not true" when I said my family hates me. That gets on my nerves. They aren't in my family, they don't know. More than anything, thats what angers me, when people tell me I'm wrong.
I didn't intend for this post to be so long.
My day was good. Went to Ikea, which was amazing. Went to Bass Pro Shop, my favorite place ever. Went to Toby Keith's Bar and Grill (I Love This Bar) and had a hamburger. Hopefully walked off some of it. Managed to get away with not having breakfast nor dinner. Most of my calories came from liquids today. Ugh.
I'm a failure.
Sam: skittlebaby666@yahoo.com
I'm 5'3, how tall are you?
That's true about being contradictory, I've never thought of it that way.
You'll have to forgive me, I'm in a bad mood and don't really feel like talking. (Ironic considering the length of this post, but journaling and talking to an actual person are two different things I suppose.)

Here's a picture of one of my favorite memories. J and I went to a Chalk Festival, hence, why its written in chalk. I can't wait for summer again. Maybe then I wont always be so fucking cold.