It's been a long time since i was on here - mostly because of all that's been happening.

I'd tried to update once, when the chaos had begun. It was a long, heart-filled entry, but when i tried to post it damned bravenet messed it up, and the words were lost.

It's been a tough month, with lots of tears and a strong desire to return to the razor i'd reunited with in february, but the fear of being punished once again by the ones i loved kept me from doing it all again.

It all started when i went to my new school, the day before i was supposed to start. The counsellor of the school went over the schedule i'd get, discussing it with my mom and i, and looked through my grades in the past semester.

"If you dont mind me asking, what happened to make these grades so bad?"

I looked at my mom. And then i looked into my lap. I wasn't sure if telling the truth was a good idea or not, simply because my mother was in the room. So i swallowed hard, straightened up, and gave her the best answer i could, with respect to the presence of such an insane woman.

"It's... very personal and very complicated and i'm not allowed to talk about it," i blurted quickly.

She paused, frowned, and eventually took what i said. "All right. I'm guessing it'd have to be pretty dramatic for...this -" she motioned to the grade report "- to happen."

But after my mom left, to look over bus schedules, and the counsellor prepared to take me on a tour, i decided to tell the truth. Honesty was usually a big thing with me - and sometimes it wasn't for the best. I tried, with some difficulty, to push out the reality of my situation.

"They don't let me talk about it... but i'd rather tell the truth. I had a miscarriage," i said, trying to hold in the bubbling emotions.

She gave me a sympathetic, sad look. "aww.. i'm sorry."

I wish she hadn't, because when she did my eyes watered and there was nothing i could do about it.

We sat in the office so i could tell the truth. I was so torn up it was hard to speak, and i kept having to pause, wipe my eyes, and breathe deeply before continuing the length of my story. She listened, she nodded, she gave her input, and she knew i wasn't ready to drop into the end of a school year while battling so much baggage. I explained why my grades were bad in trinidad, before i left. I wanted to detox, give her the real reasons so she'd know that i wasn't just a lazy asshole who wanted to spend my life drunk and high and sexing the love of my life in a trailor park (even though that doesnt sound so bad, i want a career and i want kids and i want to feed those kids).

She was really sympathetic, and by that point i knew that narmer may not be as reputable of a school as the one that expelled me, but they looked past the academic side whenever it came to real problems. They credited the importance of a stable personal life.

We discussed how we'd handle going to school under so much stress. Eventually, she saw that it was best that i started with everybody else in september and tried to heal myself between now and then. She took the trouble to talk to her husband, the high school headmaster, and they both took the trouble to go down to the superintendent and let him in on what they'd concluded.

Somehow, everybody understood. The intimidating superintendent agreed that whatever was best for me was best for the academic future, and dropped the requirements he'd made before. I was allowed to wait out the summer until september.

When the counsellor introduced the idea to my mother, she didn't take it badly. She agreed. She spent a great deal of time talking about herself and droning on about her school days, in the posh accent she reserved for these occasions. Suddenly, the weight was off my back, and i thought everything would be fine.

But when we got into the car, she started screaming. We screamed at each other the whole way back. "You wanna tell this story to this school, tell everyone we're bad, get expelled from this school and tell the same story to the next one and the next one and the next one? You wanna be a young adult on welfare working at mcdonalds with eight kids to feed by yourself? Fine!" It wouldn't end.

And it didn't. It followed me home, and it lasted three days. During that time, i hijacked my brother's cell phone, since mine is always out of credit, and cried to wessam day and night while my parents took every opportunity to scream, accuse, slap, and talk dirty about me and what i've been through.

My dad demanded an explanation for the low quality of my grades in the past few years. "You like to use the miscarriage as an excuse - so fine. but what about before that?" He pushed and pushed, and i refused to explain myself again. It was hard to tell him about it the first time, and his reaction had disgusted me. I didn't wanna do it again.

But he eventually put two and two together. "Oh, is it that sexual abuse thing in trinidad? hahahah! And how long ago was that? three years? almost four now."

I tensed up. Suddenly there was no limit to my rage. I cussed and screamed at him to get the hell out of my room, and still he lingered in the doorway, using his words to put me on a new low, like he always has. He accused me of never wanting to learn from him. It was him that never had anything to teach me.

"I can teach you about boys, too. I was one of them." He bullshitted me, about the evils of men in their early twenties, and how teenage boys, around my age, were content with kissing and cuddling and didnt need to take it further. I laughed in his face.

I'd had experience with guys my age - i didn't need his bullshit advice. Wasn't it ryan and chris that pushed and prodded and demanded sex? Wasn't it them i had to push away from, to maintain it? And wasn't it wessam that, as soon as he knew i was untouched, pulled back at the first sight of blood? He was the only one who never offered, or asked, or pushed. Instead, i was the one asking. I knew enough already, and the experiences i've had in the past are more valuable and more educational than any of the bull he could have fed into my brain.

It's funny how they can never admit when they've made mistakes. It's always had to be someone else's fault.

"Parents tell you things that you need to hear - they dont blurt out the stuff that someone else would use, just cause he wants to get into bed with you."

"Fuck you!" i hissed. "Don't even start that bull, ok? If he was looking for a lay he would have found one anywhere, instead of sticking with the same one for so long!"

"Oh, well, maybe he likes you, too."

I slammed the door in his face. The same encounters occured several times a day for three days straight. I was starting to lose my mind.

Many things followed - i made less and less sense of things. I blocked most of my contacts on MSN because i couldn't handle other people's problems. It took a while for things to calm down. Eventually the tears faded and i'd completely calmed down.

On the 25th of April, things began to lighten up. Wessam and i decided that, despite being completely broke, we had to do something for our anniversary. I was up at 9 in the morning, figuring out something to cook up. I spent three hours in the kitchen, gathering vegetables and spices and everything i could find. I dumped it all into a pot, adding random bits and pieces as it boiled. I had no idea what i was making, and when i cut up the jalapeno peppers, i was surprised at how gentle they tasted in my mouth. I made the mistake of rubbing my eyes as well as my cheek, and within 3 or 4 minutes my face was burning. It became kind of comical - in a rush to find something to ease the burning i walked into the door and sported a giant bump on my forehead for another few hours.

I took advantage of the time i had alone in the house and quickly pulled out another bottle of my dad's wine. I attempted to make the mulled wine we drank everywhere in the swiss alps last winter, poured it all into a pan, added cinnamon and sugar and lemon, and hoped it would taste ok.

 When i was finally done, i packed it all up and went out to meet him. He observed the bag curiously. "I'm sure i'm gonna love it," he told me.

"You better," i said darkly. "i went through a load of bull to make this for you."

We laughed, kissed despite being in broad daylight in the streets, and we walked off to one of the public gardens so he could sample what i made.

"mmmm," he mumbled as he swallowed, "i could almost say you're a better cook than my mother."

I smiled. Suddenly, the bump on my head and the chilli that still burned my face didn't really matter.

The peace was a relief - but my dad left for morocco at the end of april on his yearly mountain biking trip, where his friends met from all over the globe to experience a different culture and let each other in on the gossip of the past 12 months. Being alone with my insane mom and my violent, bratty, spoiled little brother was no fun. She allowed him to do whatever he wanted, so unless i was in my room, i endured battles with the scrawny kid and because of my mother, he got his way every time.

They never seemed satisfied with silence. My parents are always angry - so whenever they find a reason to be angry, however small, they take it. After my dad returned, my mom started muttering lies into his ear about my behavior. Yeah, the house is a mess. But it's idiotic and senseless to blame the mess of the whole house on me. I have a kid brother that leaves his clothes everywhere, needs other people to serve him food or pour drinks into his glass, and my mom... that's a different story altogether. My dad cut my allowance one week, explaining his actions with accusations of leaving a mess, wasting food (wtf?) and using too much electricity. I took it lightly and shrugged it off, but it turned into a bigger issue when my dad and my brother left for a camping trip last weekend, and i was alone with the witch for a night.

I'd done everything i could to avoid pissing her off. When i made an omelette, i pulled the clothes rack outside so that the newly washed clothes wouldn't smell of food. She came downstairs, stamping as always, clattered through the kitchen, yelled at me for cooking, and told me that i'd better bring the clothes inside, or else.

I went upstairs to eat the omelette, waiting for the smell in the kitchen to disappear before i pull the clothes back inside, or i'd be in trouble. But she woke up from the middle of her rest anyway, found that i hadn't taken the clothes in yet, and went insane.

After suffering the bouts of her screaming and bitch-talking that i'd tried to control by explaining myself, she lost her mind (as she always does), picked up a 3 liter bottle of water, came up to me, and smashed it into my face - repeatedly - while i was sitting on the sofa with the laptop on my lap and couldn't move fast enough to defend myself.

Only then did i start cussing at her. She wouldn't stop spewing out her bullshit, so i eventually went into my room just to escape it. Then, she stood outside my door and continued, pushing out every junior-high insult that her talentless and tiny mind could come up with. When she finally left, she kicked the two cats out of her way and slammed the glass doors.

Why the cats? They've never done anything to her. The only reason she hates them is because of the litterbox. All they ever did was put their stuff in the litter box like they're supposed to. God, it made no sense.

The next morning, i woke up with two ugly bruises on the left side of my face - one on my cheekbone and one above my eyebrow. I saw wessam the next day, for around an hour, and he shook his head when he saw the way i looked.

"Your mom is insane," he said in a low tone. "I've put my parents through everything i possibly could have - drugs, jail, even getting my girl pregnant - and all they ever did was slap and yell. They never actually left a mark on me. That's something no parent should do... unless you're really fucked up."

We discussed my mom's fake status as a muslim. She calls herself a muslim woman - and yet she drinks ( more than i do), and she's probably had affairs, she doesnt pray, she doesnt fast, she doesnt follow any of the rules.... in islam, there's certain ways of parenting. The way that any parent should raise their kids - as teachers, and friends, and  with love and care. If at any time they need to beat their kids, the rules are to do it hard enough to let them know they're doing something that'll ruin their lives, but never leave a mark on them.

Hah. I cried a lot that night. Not because i was upset, but because there was no way out, and it was pretty obvious by then. There was nothing i could do to improve the situation, because even when i tried, i failed.

When my dad returned from the camping trip, he tried to ignore the marks on my face, and became self righteous, as always. He grilled me for answers on what had happened with my mom, and i didn't try to hide the fact that my side of the story was pointless. Her side is the only one he'd listen to. She could beat me to a pulp over spilling milk on the floor or leaving the air conditioner on while i was out, and still, i would be the one to get the lecture. It would never be her.

When he looked closely enough to see the number she'd left on me though, he lightened up a little and tried to be more reasonable. I hope it stays that way.

On another note, to wrap up this update of the past month, i made the grave mistake of going to the dentist after a year. I brush my teeth twice a day and i floss my teeth twice a day and i do what i can to take care of them, but somehow, i wound up with 5 cavities and my stupid, unhygenic little brother only had 2. Not only that, but my jaws have always been too small for 32 teeth, and that's why i had to remove the top two wisdom teeth last year. This time round, the bottom two have erupted. One of them, though, was badly infected, and it was still half-grown. To top it off, one of my top molars gave me trouble in trinidad, and i kept nagging my parents to take me to a dentist. For seven months i nagged, and by the time they brought me to the dentist, i needed a root canal. Now, after three years, the tooth is cracked up and hollow and they had to get a crown done.

After four fillings, i went in on sunday for a horribly unpleasant crown. He basically drilled off the whole tooth, and butchered the gums around it. He wouldn't give me more than one injection, so i felt the pain the entire time it happened. There was a lot of bleeding from the way he drilled out the gums that bordered the now non-existent tooth, and there was so much bleeding he couldn't get the temporary crown onto it. I had to endure 24 hours with a hole in my mouth that bled constantly.

The next day, the surgeon came in to take out the infected wisdom tooth and place the temporary crown on the upper molar. He had to give me four injections before i was numb enough to start. I was awake while he stuck a knife in my mouth. I didn't feel pain, but i felt pressure. I felt him pressing the knife into my gums so that he could reveal the bone around the roots, and i felt the pressure while he cut off the surrounding bone, as well. Ugh. He had to hold my head down to pull out the tooth, and there was a sickening crack when it was finally out. Blood was already flooding my mouth and four faces were staring down at me as they tried to repair the damage.

I now have six stitches in my mouth and my left cheek is twice its normal size. I'm incapable of chewing anything and im taking 3800mgs of ibu profen every day - even though that's 1200  mg over the maximum dosage. I'm constantly swallowing blood and eating is no fun at all - i only do it when i start seeing stars and stumbling around. The bruises on my face have faded though, after five days of being obnoxiously obvious.

After all that, i've retreated into a rather antisocial shell. Wessam is the only one i really talk to - i still havent unblocked most of the people on my contacts list.

Siri chastised me because she never hears from me and she always has to call me - but i'm tired of having to solve other people's problems. For the past couple months, i've talked her through every issue she's had, i've dealt with her strange ways, and i've missed her the way she was a year ago - she was fun and wild. Now, she's bulimic and dull, living for an asshole that takes her for granted. She rants to me, sometimes loses control and cusses at me, and still, i care enough to deal with it anyway. I listen to her and give her advice - which she never takes. And when its my turn to talk, and i have problems twice the size of hers, i might as well not say anything at all, because she doesn't care.

I always knew she didn't give a shit about what i had to say. But i still cared about what she had to say anyway. The same goes for several other people on my contacts lists. Their problems are miniscule social things, mostly surrounding boys for all the chicks i talk to, and girls for all the guys i talk to. They speak of ending it all, out of stress, being upset constantly - one of them, i've been giving the same advice to and hearing the same shit from for the past two years, and i've still listened to her anyway.

And for all of these so called friends, they know i'm going through my own shit, and they know i've been through more than they ever have. But when i take the time to tell them what's going on with me, all i get is "Hmmm... ok." Or maybe a simple sad face smiley. So a month ago, i got sick of it and blocked them all.

They still bombard me with messages until today, sobbing about rumors and crushes and girls that left them and boys that dont notice them - siri herself said to me "i miss the swiss guy i met on vacation. he listened to me. Nobody listens to me." And i wanted to hang up on her. I guess whatever i've been doing was just a waste of time - and now, there's no reason to do it anymore.

They're all mad that im not online, that i dont call, dont send them messages... but they don't realize that it's only because our conversations are so unrewarding and whatever advice i've been giving for however long it's been going on, they never take. I'm playing psychologist when i can't even solve my own problems. At least when i finish college i'll actually get paid to do exactly the same thing - minus all the phone calls and screaming.

I still enjoy talking to Kris's girlfriend, though. When wessam and i were sitting in a cafe close to the school on thursday, she saw us from the window and dragged kris into the cafe to say hi. It was random, but really nice. She's a real sweetheart, and she's the one chick i can talk to (besides my babe florinda) and feel like i've had a rewarding conversation with when it's over. She hugged me, Kris shook wessam's hand, and when we looked at each other, for the first time in around 10 months, he stuck out his hand so i could shake it.

I laughed in his face and opened my arms. "Come here," i giggled. It was an awkward hug. He'd changed a lot - his mass of brown hair had been cut down and he sounded more like a prep-school kid than the bratty kid i knew. We had about 30 seconds of small talk before they had to leave and catch up with their friends.

I remembered the last time i saw him - it was the first day of eleventh grade, way back in august, when i was carrying a 7 week old fetus that i never knew was there. I was unsure of how to act with him - i almost walked right past him because i didn't realize that he was there. I gave elmo a hug and when i turned, he was giving me a worried look.

"Are you trying to avoid me?" he asked.

I refused strongly and smiled at him. I should have hugged him, but i didn't. We were both too busy remembering that the last time we'd seen each other was in june, when he'd picked up his bag and kissed me at my front door, out of the sight of my parents and my sister, after a night of doing something that we never should have done. He left for lithuania on the same day, and that was the end of our friendship.

The other night, i talked to his girlfriend online. She'd often asked me if he ever had sex before - thank god she never asked me to my face - and i always said no. She asks me a lot about him, gets advice from me on how to deal with him and how to make the play more interesting. She told me "he's done things with his summer gf."

"Summer gf? we used to talk online while he was in lithi - he never mentioned any girls."

"He said he had sex with her twice, and it wasn't her first time but it was his, and she was from church, and she already had a boyfriend but she was with him anyway - it only lasted a month cause he had to go back to lithuania."

It turns out that it was the story he told to many of his friends. I sighed a breath of relief. He'd done exactly what i'd hoped he would - he turned me into a random chick from lithuania so he wouln't have to mess everything up over a night of drunken mistakes. I'd given him a little bit of a threat after we went to sleep, though - i told him that if anybody found out and it somehow got back to wessam or seif,  he'd have a group of high/drunk egyptian metalheads, clad in black, all in their 20s, chasing him down, and it would be out of my control.

I'm hesitant about writing this on my blog - i keep wondering what'll happen if wessam or elmo or anybody else should stumble upon it in a random fluke, see my full name and their names and all this delicate information scattered all over the page, and suddenly everything will topple over.

I changed so much after that night, though - too much. Back then i was still apathetic, still unsure of myself and my feelings, still unsure about Kris, and we were so drunk, and he was staying the night at my house because of a group camping trip that my mom had wrecked - and the lack of control, coupled by his pushing and teasing and convicing, made it unavoidable because i was so damn weak.

Now, after all i've been through, i know who i am and i know who's important and i'm 100% sure of my feelings. Now, if the same thing happened, i'd tell him to sleep on the floor and go straight to sleep. Now, i know wessam is the only one for me. But still - i'm the only one he's ever slept with, as far as i know. And he believes that he's the only one i've ever slept with, too. I never wrote down the details of that night, and it's escaped my memory almost completely.

All i hope is that it stays that way.