Thursday, August 8, 2013


I never post as often as I'd like to. Hell, I forget I have various Blog spots throughout the internet. It's only when I stumble upon them a year or more after my last post that I'm like, "hey, Self. You should start Blogging again." Then I do and forget all about it again. But... here goes.

I'm planning my wedding. What's really funny is, I never intended it to be big or anything. Everyone wants to be involved, have a job, blah blah blah blah blah. I'm going from "small wedding" to "big wedding" because I have to invite everyone under the sun and I have to give them jobs to do. Apparently having someone just fucking sit there isn't good enough, they have to serve food, sing, control something in order to feel like they're actually a part of this wedding thing. My friends are in my wedding, and my family is pissed. My sisters are in the wedding, and it's not good enough for my grandma. I'd LOVE to just go to a JP and get it over with, but I wouldn't be able to live with the fact that I gave up something I really wanted simply because my family stressed me out too much.

Honestly, I just want to enjoy myself. But, this isn't about me anymore. I guess it never was.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


GOD! I am so frustrated! >.<

Okay, let's back up a bit before I go on a rant. I know that most of the people who actually read this already know me and at least have an IDEA what is going on, but in case I get someone on here who has no freaking clue, let me explain.

Dad and Emily are divorcing. BIG WHOOP! It's not my problem! They are two adults in an unhealthy, unhappy marriage. I don't blame Emily for filing and I don't blame Dad for being upset. Like I said, this is not my rodeo. However, they have three kids together. Three kids that are my sisters. Sisters in which I would die/kill for. I got asked to supervise Dad's visitations last year when this shit-fest started. I agreed thinking, "Okay... I can help Dad stay in their lives and I get to spend more time with the kids! Plus, I know that when I'm there, they're safe! WINNING!" Except now, a year later, Dad is being a douche to me, Grandma (these visitations happen at Grandma's house) is PISSED that I am civil/nice/supportive towards Emily and refuses to see Dad's faults (even though he talks about how much they [his parents] hated him and treated him like shit growing up... even says Grandma beat him). So, between the two of them and my Alzheimer-y Grandpa who is stressing me out (not his fault. I am just legitimately scared that he is going to die), I don't want to be there! PLUS Dad makes such a huge deal about how he can't do certain stuff like change diapers and Grandma ends up feeding the kids because I guess he believes they don't eat. ~>.<~
So there's that. And every time I go over to my grandparent's house just to spend time with them, Grandma has to bring up the divorce. If I don't go over there, I feel guilty because I know I don't have forever with them. GREAT.

So there was this massive 'incident' involving me and one of my cousins. He was being drunkenly rude and I was sick and freaking tired of it. I've dealt with this bullshit my whole life, I shouldn't have to deal with it when I'm trying to have fun with my family. He pushed the line, I told him off (called him a fuckhead... really. A fuckhead?) he ended up throwing food at me (pizza sauce = classy) and kicking me. Bunches of other crap happens, I end up spilling my guts to Grandma about how worried I am about Gramps and my cousin ends up fighting his brother-in-law who was doing nothing but trying to protect me. Basically, I was told to leave because I pissed him off, he called me an "Effing B" and told me how much he hates me. This broke my heart. I stood up for myself and my grandpa and this is what happened. (By the way, I never laid a HAND on him.)
A couple of days later, I'm at visitation, and Grandma asks me to apologize to my cousin. WHAT?! Yes, I realize I know better than to yell at a drunk person, but really?! There is not a bone in my body that says I should be the adult in this situation. My cousin is a 30-something year old MAN. I'm 21! I'm supposed to be the drunken disorderly, not the guy with the kids that are screaming because they don't know what the frick is going on!
OH! And did I mention? THIS WAS A MONTH AGO! I haven't heard a WORD out of his mouth since! Am I bitching that it happened? Not really. Am I bitching that my family is trying desperately to sweep this under the rug? Shit yeah!

Haha. Funny. My only real friends are the ones who are just as busy living and attempting to build a life as I am, and we rarely have time for one another. I SUCK at keeping friendships, and I mean that. I have a few people I like hanging out with, but maybe five that I consider close enough to share this stuff with, but with names and in more detail (like with crying and blubbering). I only see one on a regular basis (William Torix, take a bow!), one on the occasional weekend (Dillon Webster, that's you, buddy) and two with whom I've been promising to catch up with and let them know all of this because we never see each other (Brooke Polly! Tara Hays! <3). Then there is that last one. The one I thought would never leave me behind. Last night he told me that he is fine with losing me as a friend because he is comfortable with the people he lives with. One of those people used to be my best friend, but she's busy living the life with people who aren't as screwed up as me. I'm just too freaking hard to be around sometimes.

So, I'm angry. All the time. I wish I could run away and leave this "awesome" life behind, but I'd be held in contempt of court for not showing up for visitations. Can someone please shoot me?

Who Am I?

Who am I?
I don't know.
Why am I doing this?
I really have no idea...
Is this stupid?
Probably... I'm going to start now...

My name is Sophie. I'm crazy. I'm writing this for myself, not anyone else. I have a crazy life and I think writing it all out will help me sort through and make sense of it all. I don't know where to start, which is why I suck at these things, so I guess I'll do what I've been taught and start at the beginning. The VERY BEGINNING! *Cue the scary music*

My dad is Randy. No, British people, he's not horny. His name is Randall.
He is an alcoholic and a pathological liar... when in need of sympathy.

My mom is Terri. Her name is Teresa.
She is a drug abuser and a pathological liar. I'm sensing a trend here...

My step-mom is Emily. Her name is Emily.
She is a mother of three and divorcing my dad. I used to hate her.

Okay, we've got the basics. Whew.

I was born on April 30, 1990. I don't know what happened after this point because I don't trust what my parents have told me. My dad says my first word was love, even though I didn't have teeth. My mom says she named me, but so does my dad. They both agree that it was not a mutual agreement and they had to talk the other into it.

Now, through infancy and toddler-hood, I was apparently super awesome. I "never sucked my thumb" and I didn't give anyone a lot of trouble. Go me. Mom was gone by the time I turned 3, and my parents had a custody agreement that would send me to Dad one year and Mom the next. That didn't work out because Mom was busy "partying". Dad worked the early (3am-3pm) shift at Walmart D.C. so that left me at my grandparents a bunch. Woohoo.

In grade-school I was a trouble maker. I beat up the boys and refused to take naps. I also told the teachers there that I never got any food at Dad's house which got him in trouble until I finally admitted that his rule was "eat or go to bed" and I didn't like spicy foods or goulash. Duh. I was a freaking kid. So while everyone else was taking naps, my cousin Johnny, my teacher's aid, took me under her wing and put me in advanced reading. According to Dad, I learned to read at the age of 4 and finished my first novel before I started school. Guess what my major is!

I stayed in advanced reading until third grade. Dad pulled me out because he didn't want me isolating myself from my peers... Riiiigggghhhhttt... Because tons of third graders do that.

This is also the year I entered my first play, started voice lessons and got a step-mom. I was on a freaking roll.

Fourth grade was the beginning of my trouble. I stopped doing my homework, hated my teacher, began another custody battle and ended up spending more time with my mother than I ever had. Fifth grade holds the same story.

Sixth grade I moved to Ozark Upper Elementary because my step-mom demanded I join band. I stayed in band that whole year; played the trumpet. Not much can be said about that year. Moving caused me to be separated from my best friend, Ryan, even though he lived right next to me. He ended up moving not long after that anyway... only he moved half-way across the country. Moving on to....

Seventh Grade!!! I hated seventh grade. Everything about it sucked. Actually, everything about junior high sucked. I made all the wrong choices and was friends with all the wrong people. The sad part? I was actually freaking trying not to do any of those things. Dated a mentally and emotionally abusive guy from eighth to tenth grade. Had the same "best friends" from seventh until tenth, who absolutely despised me. Except for one... and I screwed that up. She moved to Oklahoma, I screwed up her trust and she and I have barely spoken since. That was sincerely one of the worst mistakes of my life. Oh, and I cut myself... as though self-mutilation was going to make anything better. I think deep down I just wanted to outdo one of my "friends" and ended up addicted. I tried to kill myself in the ninth grade and because I'm such a loser, even that didn't work out. I mean, several times too, not just the time that left the stupid scar on my wrist either. Every stupid plan failed, but I think I was sabotaging my own suicide attempts... Of course I didn't really know that then. Started counselling.

Let's just move up to tenth grade, shall we? Boyfriend cheated on me with a skank neighbor I thought was my friend and found out on Christmas break. How awesome! THEN my friends left me after they saw me give him a "goodbye kiss" when we got back to school... they never asked my I was so hung up on him. I got new friends. I got a new crush. One of my new friends went to prom with my crush and then told me what a great kisser he was. I dropped my new friends and started dating the sweetest guy in the world. Then... I screwed that up because I couldn't handle it. So I started fake dating my preacher's son in the eleventh grade. Obviously that didn't work out either. This is the time, however, that I quit cutting and became obsessed with God. I "graduated" from counselling.

My senior year is a blur. My best friends were this chick I thought had a lot in common with me, turns out she was crazier than me and William. The best man I've ever met. Also, I dated an amazing guy that I knew better than to be with. He was... perfect. Too nice, too sweet, too... manipulable. Got a little sister six months before I turned eighteen. A month before I graduated, I moved out of my parent's house and into my grandparent's house. Full on, double rainbow freedom. Right before college, I dumped my then fiance. After I broke his four-wheeler. I'm a really bad person... or I was at this point. I did feel bad about all of it, it was just timed so badly. I didn't want to hurt him, but I made it worse trying to make it better.

College/parties/freedom/chaos started, August of 08. I lived with my then best friend Ashley in a dorm on the football field. Hell to the yeah. Remember when I said I had a crush my tenth grade year? Welp, started dating him that September, and I'm still with him today. After my first spring semester, I moved back to Ozark and sorta settled down with him. Fall of 09, my step-mom became pregnant with the twins (girls) and they were born in the spring of 10. Then she filed for a divorce that summer. Shocker.

I, for some reason, agreed to supervise Dad's visitations with the girls even though I'd already moved, with my boyfriend, back to Russellville. Every other weekend I had to drive to Altus and supervise. Because this took up so much gas, I had to get a job. I worked almost or at least forty hours until February of this year, went to school full time and still did these visitations. One day I'll go into detail about my psycho self during this time. Now, I'm living with my boyfriend at his parents house BACK in Ozark. I'm still going to college and working on fixing up a trailer to live in across the street.

This is the general idea of my life. I'm sorry I took up so much space. I'll keep posting details I left out in later posts. :) I'm crazy. Welcome to my life.