First day of June now. Another 18 days n i'll be on a shitty longhaul flight to my mom's side of the family in singapore.

It is said that if you chant "rabbit rabbit" as your first two words of a new month, it'll be a good month. I'm not really counting on it though - may was shitty enough already and i'm still drowning in the blood, sweat, and tears that it induced.

I saw wessam on friday the 29th. I was planning to just sit in a cafe with him and talk, the way we used to. And we were talking - about the artistic student cousin of his, that has an american passport and has been in egypt now for almost a year, studying the art and architecture, living in his own flat, going to the downtown pub where you can get a stella beer for only 9 le (around 1 sterling pound, r $1.50 US dollars) and drink as much as you want with a bunch of foreigners that wont harass you. And then we talked randomly about the beginning of a g-spot orgasm that i'd always resisted, because it felt more like a weak bladder, and had only realilzed it was the beginning of the kind of orgasm that only the lucky women with extremely good lovers get to have when i researched the problem online.

It was back to normal, i thought. But we'd only been there for an hour when he insisted that we go to the studio - supposedly to spend time alone when it's empty (sometimes we're lucky enough to unwind the sexual frustration that usually gets to me if nothing's happened for over a week) and see if i can let the uneasy feeling ride until it becomes something better. I was surprised that he wanted to leave so quickly, even tried to convince him to stay for a while - but sherif was yet again the excuse to go early.

And when he'd convinced me that we would spend the time alone for some loving, i decided not to be a party pooper and went with him to the studio. But sherif was there, and i sat around staring into space while they played music. We tried to steal some time alone when sherif disappeared, but we wasted so much time worrying about getting caught that when we actually did it, we had to stop halfway through because we heard somebody coming - it was the opera singer dina, sherif's sister. I often do duets with her. She handed us an electric guitar and left, and we tried doing it again, but neither of us had the chance to finish because she came back, opened the door, and we had to hold it shut while pulling our jeans back up, while making up random excuses as to why the door was jammed.

It didnt help my mood much - stopping at the peak meant that everything would hurt for the next few hours. Wessam and i hadn't talked much, and we spent a long time trying to organize the equipment so we could start practicing.

During a cigarette break, as we were sitting outside in the patio, i curled up from the central pain.

"How's your stomach?" wessam asked. He hadn't even sat next to me - he was next to sherif.

"It's ok, still weird but whatever..."

"She thinks her parents poisoned her," wessam told sherif, smirking sarcastically.

"Nooo... no way," he said, coming around to find a chair.

"My mom is insane - who knows what could happen?"

I didnt want to have this conversation - Dina seemed to make more sense than sherif or wessam. She told me that my mom is most likely depressed and unhappy here, maybe having some big problems with my dad - and i agreed. I know she's having psychological issues, but it still doesnt make taking it out on me the right thing to do.

Sherif reminded me that having a miscarriage is a big deal - here in egypt people would kill their daughters for doing the same thing and call it an honor thing. I became frustrated as they brought up excuse after excuse for my mom to be the way she was. I made some mistakes - i know that. But then why was she like this since i was ten? They talked to me like i was an idiot, and wessam pissed me off even more. I know that having a child is hard, being responsible for another person is hard - i see that everything i wear and everything i have, the food i eat and the bed i sleep in, is all provided for me by my dad. I understand that completely, and thats the one reason i have never said that they dont give me anything. They thought i was too much of an idiot to understand it, thought i was a spoiled brat that just didnt like my parents cause they put rules into my life. And wessam barely helped at all.

He spoke as if he knew my issues better than i did  and knew my parents better, too. He constantly cut in, saying my parents only problem is school cause i dont care about it and i dont do well and they're fed up and stressed out, telling him all they want is for me to be independent and successful in life, that if i came home drunk every night n still got straight A's he wouldnt mind. He even went as far as saying my problem is a small one that im just blowing up out of nowhere and it'll disappear as soon as i do well in school.

"The life is hard, you know," he said to me, in front of everyone. By then i wanted to break something because i was so damn frustrated.

I was the one who made him realize that life is hard and he cant spend it high and drunk and playing guitar unless he does something with it - i'm the one that put him through final exams when he was having doubts about being responsible. I'm the one that's finally decided what i want to do with my life, finally become motivated by an aspiration, willing to do anything i can to be a psychiatrist. I'm the one that's driven here, even if i'm the one thats out of school. And here he is sitting back as if he's a fucking genius who knows everything, telling a spoiled, ambitionless, lazy little brat that life is hard and my problems at home are nothing.

"Her parents dont even care about the miscarriage," he told sherif, "all they care is that she got kicked out of school."

Then why in hell has this been going on since i was ten? My problem wasnt that i wanted them off my back - my problem is that i've grown up more with founders or charity than i have with actual parents, and i got no emotional support from them at all - if i ever expected them to sympathize, or understand in the past seven years, i was disappointed - every single time.

I was a child prodigy when i was younger - when i was in fifth grade and my sister was drilling a math homework question with my dad, i heard what it was and automatically nailed it. My vocabulary was better than any other kid i knew, my grades were fantastic - they only fell after i was sexually attacked at thirteen. But for the three years before that, my mother had begun closing off any maternal ties, except when we went shopping. And when i fell into depression after the attack, put on a few extra pounds, she distanced herself from me even more. It wasn't just about school. If i did well in school they wouldnt be as hard on me as they are now, but they still wouldn't be parents. They wouldn't take me under their wing and make me feel safe - why else would i feel so elated and happy when wessam's mom had acted convincingly and basically made it seem as though she was taking me under her wing?

I was so angry at their lack of understanding, at the condescending way they talked to me about an issue that has irrepairably carved itself into my mind over the seven years it's existed- i'm self conscious, i depend on my beauty, my vanity is obnoxiously strong, i expect to be in the background all the time, i'm emotionally weak and i'm miserable at home - and i never feel secure.

"Have ambitions, have a career, life is hard, you need an education and they care about it like any parent would, blah blah blah" they all kept telling me. I have been fully aware of it - and i've gone through more in the first seventeen years of my life than all three of them put together. I didn't even want to talk about it - but wessam seemed happy to make me sound like a drama queen who was making mountains out of molehills. Is being raped and having your parents laugh about how long it's taking me to get over it a molehill? Is it a small problem? I was so mad i reduced my speech to silence and walked out of the conversation, subtly, because i'd rather sit around doing nothing than take this shit on an already bad day.

It started to become enjoyable when i had a chance to work with them on a new, oriental song, but wessam's phone kept ringing and he kept having to leave in the middle of it so he could answer. It was his parents of course, nagging him over where he was.

I found out that his parents - his mom especially - had been rampaging on about me for the past couple days, so i had nothing but bitter feelings towards them and became really uptight when i wondered if they were gonna pull another surprise visit on us. Being around them was easier the first time when i went to the house and met his mom, and the second time when both his parents came and i met his dad for the first time, but after knowing that they went home and started complaining and shit talking me for the entirety of the week, it changed my idea of them completely.

By nine, wessam recieved a phone call from them and discovered that they were parked outside the studio and wanted to come over. I became even more nervous. My voice became less smooth and i felt the muscles in the back of my neck tightening up. I'm not sure why i reacted so physically to the whole thing when i knew they'd be nice to my face, but i was self conscious and irritated and nervous all at the same time. Wessam tried to convince them to leave while i stayed inside and sang with the band, but nothing happened. Instead, he had to ask sherif if it was ok to meet his parents and have them come into the studio.

He joked around about having to put on nicer shoes than the ones he was wearing. Before he left, i asked him for a cigarette to calm my nerves and sat down with sherif's parents and dina in the garden patio while he and wessam went out to meet the parents. I was becoming dizzy - i hadnt slept much the night before and i'd been let down twice in the middle of sex, so i guess the anxiety had set off the light-headed feeling that i already should have had. I talked with the parents for a while, and suddenly wessam was in my ear, saying "you can't smoke in front of my dad, ok?" and he stepped downstairs into the studio. I vaguely saw his father approaching and my eyes widened.

"shit, shit shit," i said, and dina watched amusedly as i stubbed the tip of my still only slightly burned cigarette on the edge of the metal table. Sparks of burning ash flew everywhere but i was done by the time his dad was next to me. Whether he noticed or not, i dont know. But i stood nervously, shook his hand, and returned his fake, polite smile with a fake smile of my own.

"My wife is still in the car," he said to sherif, "and i cant leave her. Is it all right if she comes?"

I bit my lip. Now the real monster in law was coming. "I'm going inside," i told dina, "they have huge problems with the way i look and they complain constantly about it. ughh." she smirked knowingly and nodded. She's in her 40s now, around 45 - but she looks much younger and much more youthful than wessam's mom, and she's light hearted and easy going.

We started singing as the bassist, a kid that sells me cigarettes at the supermarket as a part time job, attempted to play on a six string guitar. He's great at what he does, but the 6 string was probably pretty new to him. My head had begun singing and my heart rate was up and i was short of breath, so i didnt sound as good as usual when we sang, dina with her high-pitched opera and me with my somber lyrics.

The night took a negative turn when wessam came down and told me that they were going to drive him home and drop me off.

"What?" i said, heart rate rising even more, "are you serious? I don't wanna be in the car with your parents," i complained. It was basically a party out there on the patio, sherif and his parents with wessam's parents in the mix.

"It's only for a couple minutes, what's the problem?"

"There's a reason i came down here, you know. To know what they've been saying about me behind my back, as recently as yesterday - ugh. I dont wanna be under their radar. Are you kidding me? Lets walk."

"What do his parents say about you that's so bad?" Dina asked.

"They get off non stop on sitting around and saying shit about me - they think i'm difficult to look at, my nose is all wrong, my face is all wrong, my teeth aren't white enough, my ass is too big, everything's wrong...." i sighed hard.

"Is everything wrong to your parents?" Dina asked wessam.

"With me, hell yes," i said, fidgeting and getting even dizzier.

"yeah," he agreed. "They're always saying stuff about her."

"I'm not going in the car with your parents," i insisted. "No way."

He sighed hard. "Ok, then lets go and see if they'll let me walk you back."

I smiled weakly, took dina's hand and said goodbye, repeated the action with the bassist. His mom gave me a smile that i knew was icy and forced, and kissed both my cheeks. "Happy birthday," she said. I was as polite as i possibly could be, making it appear as though nothing was wrong. But my insides were churning. Standing around being nice to the pumpkin shaped woman that sits around talking obnoxiously about how ugly and big assed i am, telling her son he has no good reason to be with me at all, i'm a bitch, there's no way a decent person could be in a relationship with him, i'm obviously full of drugs and bullshit. God knows how many of her sisters she spread the same idea to. A 45 year old woman with nothing better to do. The same 45 year old woman that complained so much about all of her nephew's choices of women that he gave up on getting married. I'd heard all the stuff she had to say about me constantly ever since i met her, and it had gotten a lot worse after i met his dad.

There's something called decency, and something called manners. At least now i know where wessam got his scrutinizing, critical attitude. I guess they were all raised without learning about either one of those things.

Oh, and his 15 year old brother, who still sleeps in his mom's bed and talks exactly the same way about me as she does, was also there. Ugh.

I was under the impression that we were leaving, so i followed wessam through the front gates and onto the street. As soon as we were alone he started the attack.

"What you did is not fucking cool. What the hell are you thinking, talking about them like that?"

"Like what? All i said is that i dont wanna be with them in the car, and why i didnt wanna be with them in the car."

"You made them sound like fucking monsters in front of Dina and Khaled. What the hell?"

"What the hell is the problem? I didnt make them sound like anything - all i said is what's true."

"It's not right," he growled.

"Sure its not right, but its nothing compared to what they've been doing to me. It's like they slapped me in the face and all i did was glare back at them."

"I dont see what the fucking problem is! It's just two minutes with them in the car!" he said.

"Well i dont want to be around them, and if i had the choice i'd rather walk home. And since i have the choice i'd rather walk home!"

We started screaming at each other in the middle of the street. I didnt understand why he had to be so rough over it - i made it clear that what i'd said about them was the truth, and there were no insults or bad words in between - i was mad because they sit around saying shit about me behind my back, and very degrading, insulting, critical things. At their age they should have more decency and more manners than that. I never insulted them or said anything bad about them - whatever i'd done was a far cry from what they'd done to me.

"So you don't wanna be in the car? Then go home!" he said angrily. We were already on the street and i was so mad with his stupid reactions and so mad with the way he'd gotten into the talk about my parents and so dissatisfied with sitting and talking with me in a cafe like we used to that my heart was pounding. I have a weak, fast paced heart and very high blood pressure, thanks to the hyperthyroidism, and it made me dizzy and weak.

"Okay," i said simply. "Bye."

And i turned and walked away.

"Ok, where the hell are you going?" he yelled.

"Home," i said back.

He stormed towards me. "You're gonna go home alone?" he asked, grasping my upper arm.

"Yeah, apparently. So bye."

I turned and tried to leave, but he sighed hard, grabbed my wrist, and started pulling me towards the end of the road. "Fine, lets go."

5 seconds later, he stopped. "Wait, we cant just leave like that. We have to at least say bye to sherif and my parents."

"Fuck them, i dont want any more fake smiles and fake goodbyes just so that they can go home and start another debate about how friggin hard it is to look at me. Why not spare them the challenge of smiling at such a hideously mangled face and leave?"

He pulled me back towards the studio.

"Im fucking pissed off," he said.

"You're pissed off? I'm the one here who should be pissed," i hissed.

"Why should you? Because my parents are giving an honest opinion on you?"

"Honest? Fuck me. And it's not only about them."

"Well what the hell did i do wrong?" he growled as we walked the corridoor to the front gates of Sherif's patio.

"The talk about my parents - you got into it as if i was fucking stupid, you talked to me like i was a spoiled brat and talked about my situation as if you know it better than i do - and even went as far as telling me the life is hard and i suck at school when you know my ambitions go way past getting high and playing music. Not only that but you came to the fucking conclusion that it was a very small problem and i'm a drama queen."

"I didnt do that! i just talked that way because you get into conversations way too deeply with people you dont know very well and they shouldnt have to know the extent of our problems?"

We walked through the gate, towards the people. "Fuck! First of all - our problems? I'm the one dealing with our mistake every day of my life and i'm the one living with it! Second of all, who brought up my parents in the first place?"

He flicked his hand at me, as if to say 'shut up, we've got company now' but i didnt take it.

"Who brought it up?" i asked again, really really mad by then.

He didnt say anything. I was dizzy and my heart rate was jacked up and it made my dizziness and rage even worse. Voices were flying back and forth as wessam and his family talked with sherif and his parents, and i was barely aware of it. I didnt look at anybody in the eyes. I glared at wessam's back, rolled my eyes, turned to go down the steps to the basement studio so quickly that i slipped on the second step and wound up sitting on the third one.

I heard a lot of gasps - everyone turned to look.

"You okay?" Sherif asked, "that didnt look like much fun." He was standing right next to the top step, leaning against the wall, smiling down at me.

I grinned at him, laughed a little, and quickly got to my feet. "Yeah, im fine, i'm just really dizzy right now."

"Oh really? You didnt drink anything did you?" he asked over the voices and the stares.

"No, no, no, i'm just not feeling well," i said, and i disappeared into the studio.

It was clear that i was really mad when i sat down next to Dina and glowered into my lap. Publicly yelled at once again - when does it end?

I dont remember much of what happened - i was so worked up it was as if half of my mind shut down. But i did talk to dina. She asked me where i live and when she found that it was really close by, she offered to take me home once the practising was done. I smiled - at least somebody understood.

"Well, i guess i could, but it seems as though wessam's gonna walk me home. Thank god."

He walked into the room, though, and i glared up at him.

"Come on," he said. "They're gonna drop you off. They're all waiting."

"Why can't i just walk?" I asked.

"Be reasonable and go in the car," he said.

"I dont need a drop off - i can handle myself."

"Then i'll walk you home. Just come," he said.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Okay."

As we left walked through the gates though, it became pretty obvious that i was still gonna have to ride in the car with them. Wessam's dad, at one point, told me it's ok, they can drop me off and i wont need to walk. Inside my brows were raised to my hairline with suspicion, but outside i smiled politely and thanked him.

It was friggin uncomfortable. I was squashed between wessam and the car door and as they talked on in arabic, wessam whispered an apology, told me its not that bad, gave me some surprising information. He'd told his dad i want to walk home instead of riding in the car with them because they're saying shit about me all the time - that's why he came up and told me it's ok, i can ride home with them.  "They have to know these things," wessam said.

I turned disdainfully away and when it was time to get out of the car, i was so eager to breathe that i kind of hit my head on the way out. First i land on my ass on the stairs, then i hit my head. God. They probably had a ball talking about it later that night. They turned around in their seats and waved goodbye. I let out a simple "bye" and closed the door.

Needless to say, home was a relief. It wasn't a relief for long, though, because wessam got online and began another argument. I'd ranted to my old, cocky, random and incredibly funny friend goose while he listened and cracked jokes about the patheticness of it in between. When adam came in, asking nicely for the laptop, i told him i couldnt cause i was having a problem, and he asked about it.

"Okay, first of all, whenever i call you ugly its just a joke and everybody knows that they can't call you ugly and be honest about it, and second of all, how old are his parents again?"

"45 and 54," i told him.

He looked at me, eyes wide and one eyebrow arched with surprise, and when the moment passed he sighed. "I miss britain," he told me, and i smirked at how he understood my plight. I missed britain too. If i was with a british guy his parents would most likely be as decent with me as the family friends are with their son's girlfriends.

He kept me company as i argued with wessam and joked around with goose. He'd make me type strange messages to goose, just to have some fun with him. Goose told me "when he's arguing with you, why don't you just ignore him? Or, if he says you're immature or you dont know how to handle things, just say NO, YOU dont know how to handle things. Or just a simple NO U. Seriously. Try it out. I wanna see what happens."

For the first time i was letting wessam in on how fed up i was of constantly hearing insulting criticism about myself - not only from his parents but from him. It got pretty ugly and three hours later he came to the conclusion that he doesnt know me anymore. I got tired - i could barely sleep that night.

The next day he couldn't come, so we discussed our position online. He'd had another fight with his mom, and he told me something that i wish was true, but dont really believe.

"i'll tell you something surprising," he said. "When i was arguing with my mom earlier she said 'You think your girl is ugly?! You're so stupid to be with someone beautiful like her! This relationship is forbidden and that's why i ever said anything against her, so that you'll feel like you're doing something wrong!"

She then accused him of having a fight with me that night at the studio - i guess glaring at his back, rolling my eyes, and storming down the steps so quickly i tripped was enough of a reason to believe we were fighting.

Somehow though, i dont believe any of what he told me. Except maybe the part about the fight. Why would she say so much bullshit about me, only to tell him that she's saying it all to make him mad? It corresponded too much with the excuses he always gave me for them - that they just wanted to make him mad cause there's nothing else they could do about a 'forbidden' relationship.

Not only that, but while we argued about it in his car yesterday, he didnt bring it up again. He had a new range of reasons to believe she has no problem with me at all.

Yesterday, he came over at 1 to hang out before going to the studio with his band. We were supposed to be together until their appointment at 5:30, but 45 minutes into our day together, the co-guitarist called him and asked if he's ready to go right now, cause he finished work early and is free to start now.

It would be so easy to just tell him "no, i'm not ready, but i'll be ready at the time of our appointment." But the studio always has to come first, right?

I acted as if i didnt really care, and tried very hard not to. It's a defence mechanism of mine - if they start to care less, i'll try to pull back and do the same. If you don't expect much, you won't be disappointed. And that's what i tried to do. I would normally expect him to stick to the time because we were still trying to recover from a fight, but knowing i'd be disappointed, i decided not to expect anything. And he didn't give me anything - we drove around trying to call the drummer so that he could tell him that since the two guitarists are totally 'free' and can start, he should, too.

He was aware that i wasnt happy about it, and all he said was sorry, over and over again. When the co guitarist called again, he told him "i can meet you straight away at the studio, its totally fine with me," i iced over a little bit more.

He stopped on the side of the road and turned to me so we could have a 'real conversation.'

"Shouldn't you be going?"

"Its fine if i'm a little bit late," he said.

I cant remember when or how the subject of his judgemental parents and his own judgemental tendencies came up, but they did, and we argued over it for a while. He never brought up his mom's alleged confession, instead telling me that even if i was the queen of beauty, she'd do the same thing. He accused me of misunderstanding him and never being satisfied. "To me it doesnt matter, i see you as pretty enough," he said.

I sighed hard. I'd stopped believing him from the first time he made a habit of pointing out and blatantly expanding the small flaws on the face i was born with, and my disbelief only intensified when he began reporting all of his charming mother's insults with a big smile on his face.

After the heavy talk, he dropped me off at home, apologizing several times for leaving early. "Stop apologizing," i told him. "the studio's waiting. So go."

I mean... i guess girlfriend time counts as free time to him. He told the guitarist he was totally free and could start right away. As far as i'm concerned, i'm almost non existent. And it's not the first time this kind of thing happened. I'm seeing it a lot these days.

On top of that, he didnt finish until seven thirty, and he left at nine. We would have had five and a half hours together if he'd told the guitarist he wasnt as free as he made it seem. Instead we only had two, and within that time, we were barely speaking cause he was so damn busy calling them.

I've seen this all a lot lately, but the epic display was a while ago, in the middle of chaos.  Back in september, when i was dealing with the difficulties of home life and emotional stress after the miscarriage and was punched in the stomach by my dad while my womb was healing badly, i refused to go to sharm with them and said i'd stay at home.

Wessam had the choice to stay wtih me in the house for four days, completely alone, with 600le on me, while i really needed him. And he also had the choice to go to dahab on a trip with friends and get drunk and high the whole time.

He used his cousin as an excuse. While i was doubled over in agony from the waves of pain my womb suffered after the hard punch, wessam was sitting in the kitchen and telling his cousin "yeah man, i'm coming. No, she's fine. I'm coming."

"I can't piss him off," he told me. "He was really mad this morning when i told him i couldnt come because of you. So i have to go."

He told me he's stressed out, needs a break, needs a change in scenery. It was probably one of the most selfish things he's ever said to me - i'd just gotten beaten up because of the baby that stayed dead in my womb for seven days - a baby that he had created. I was the one dealing with all the pain. I was the one who took all the shit. He had nothing to worry about. And instead of staying with me for four days, alone in the house, he went to dahab to get drunk and high and watch women on the beach for all hours of every day.

It still hits a nerve with me, every time i hear him talk about the trip and how amazing it is and how good the weed is.

You could call it the straw that broke the camel's back. I've been pulling out the ultrasounds of my dead baby a lot, and i've been crying over them. I guess it's just terminal disappointment and wounds that are several years old and never seem to have healed, but i returned to the razor yesterday, while wessam was jamming.

I made three paper-thin slits across my pulse point. The bleeding was hardly satisfactory for a masochistic thirst like mine, but i allowed the line of blood to circle my wrist like a bracelet, and left it there while i slept. Adam came in asking for the laptop.

"What's wrong with your hand?" he asked me. All he saw was the back of it, but he could see the line of dried up red.

"Nothing," i said.

"Is it nailpolish?"

"Yes, it is. And you can have the laptop, just dont spill anything on the table."

He's not stupid though. He's seen the scars before. He's fully aware of them, doesnt say anything about them to my parents, and jokes around, calling me an emo kid. I guess in my own strange way, i am.

Wessam never noticed them when i saw him, thank god. The conversation didnt go well and i was annoyed that he insisted on leaving at nine, and i became as honest with him as i could about the way i'd been feeling. When i went home, i didnt bother to go online and continue talking with him, since he couldn't bother to tell the guitarist that he's busy and cant play right now. Instead i made another four slits to accompany the ones that were already there, and moved to the other wrist, hoping the bleeding would be heavier.

It'll never be as satisfying as it was on the morning i was going to meet wessam's mom. The blood had pooled at the creases of my hand, gone in all directions, wrapped around my middle finger and dropped off of the tip, onto the floor. I regret it now though, because i'll be meeting him soon and the wounds are far more obvious now. Last time, he'd pulled back my wrist covers within five minutes of meeting. Make up is my only hope.

Anyways, i gotta go. Time to get ready. Time for another disappointing day.