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So, here I am. Really worried again- Mom left the house after Dad threw away her grandmother's stool. The hand made one, with the gold brocade and the little black feet- that apperently Mom's grandma made. By scratch. ._.' The only thing is- when Mom storms out of the house, she's so blinded by rage and tears usually she can't even tell where she's going.

I know that every relationship must have fights to get stronger- but that's all my parents do. Dad's always yelling about this or that, and chucking things here and there- and usually into the trash. No matter how important they are. Mom never wants to compromise- even a little bit of tissue paper I happened to use when I was about five or so has sentimental value to her. ((Ok, ok. It's not quite that bad- but close. She has Women's World Magz from around when I was born up to now.))
My parents don't want to try living with a balance in life- and as far as I see it, that's the only way to live- balanced between what you want to do, and what someone else wants to do. Balance between urging people into looking after their health and not hurting their feelings. Balance between urging someone to get better and to not fail.

I could pretend their fighting doesn't hurt me. But that's a lie. I hate it when people are hurting- inside or out. But inside is usually worse- and vicious words only make that worse. I hate it when my mother crys, and I hate it when she's angry too. She only puts herself- and others- at risk. I hate it when my father is so stubborn he doesn't see what he's done. And I hate it when he yells and when he throws things. It's like he's not even my dad anymore- not the one who laughs at stupid jokes about body functions that no one else finds funny. Not my dad whose alwyas happily talking about the 70s honda motorcycle he's rebuilding from a junker he found at the dump. Not the dad who decided he was going to act as my brother as well because I didn't have one.

*sigh*