An escape presents itself.

I don't know why I couldn't figure it out sooner.

My form of escape from my mother is imaginary.

I use music to drown out her yelling.

I put my headphones on and I close my eyes and I pretend that I'm actually there singing that piece of music.

And it never fails, even if I'm not arguing with my mom. Even if it's just a bad day. Music helps.

On nights like tonight...when I can't figure out what I did to deserve her screaming and yelling and crying, I just want to listen to music and forget about all of it, even if it's just for three and a half minutes.

I'm at a point where I get tired of hearing myself complain or whine about how she's acting or what she's done to me this time...because it occurs so frequently these days.

It's unbelievable. It's literally...UNBELIEVABLE.

Ian doesn't get it. His solution is always to just ignore her...as if that is going to make all of this mess go away. Then I get angry at him for not being the sympathetic person I know he can be. But I know that no one understands what I'm going through because I am the only person dealing with this shit on a daily basis.

I'm being punished for living my life...for leaving her here on the weekend. I asked Colin what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to sit here with her all day and night, every day of the week and be alone like her when I actually have a choice in the matter? He basically said it's okay for me to put myself first for once. She doesn't even talk to me. She doesn't want to talk to me. She just wants to punish me and make me feel sorry for her, while at the same time screaming at me for things I did not do.

I am so tired of paying for my father's death....I would give anything to bring him back so that I could live my life without guilt.

One day, I'll write a book about a girl who had a terribly hurtful mother, who beat her, verbally abused her, pretended to call police on her when she was 5, made her pack her bags just to scare her, threw her outside in the middle of winter, trashed her room thinking her daughter was doing drugs (when she wasn't)....and nobody will ever know that it's my autobiography. It'll remain a piece of fiction to the world and it will be a moment of closure to my awful life with her.

I'll never understand my mother.

And she will never understand me.

At this point, I'd rather be all alone.