The Blogs, the Vlogs, and the Rog Pogs.

Before I begin, I want to stress the fact that I do not have it worse than any other person out there. I am not just whining, but after 17 years of this nonsense, I have a vehicle to channel my anger, frustration, and dispair if I should so choose, and after hearing a person have the courage to just put it all out there for his world (us) to hear, I think I can step it up too.

And I think I need to try and explain my changed attitudes as of late, which many people have noticed.

Right now I’m at the point where I don’t care who knows about my checkered past, I just know that if you are truly my friend, you would look past it, and not treat me, or anybody involved, any differently. And I’ve come to start thinking that some of you know a little piece of it anyway. All it would take is a simple google of “Roger Thacher”.

My father went to jail for 3 years. My middle school years. If you want me to get into why, then you ask me, but that’s not the point for this blog. He did his time, and is now on Probation. This means that he can’t live x amount of miles from certain places, he has to be home by 10 PM (which is the real reason why I can never get a ride home at night), and a bunch of other legal mumbo jumbo. He also can’t get a steady job because he has that big red mark on his record. He could have a job, but it requires him to work at night, so he went to a jude and got a pass to work nights. But he has a Probation Officer with a God Complex who will not let him do anything, so he’s stuck.

This lady likes to come into our house, “inspect” the place, and terrorize my father, who never does anything wrong. My dad learned his lesson already, and you all who have met my father have seen this. He isn’t a bad person, he just made one mistake in his life. She terrorizes my father, and it puts a strain on all of us. It has come to the point where he has to be afraid of going back to jail because this lady will not let up on him, as if he got out of jail for murder. This is killing the relationship between my parents, and it’s killing me.

Every time he gets worried like this, he freaks out, and my parents fight. I thought I escaped this after he went away because they used to fight a lot worse than they do now, but the levels are starting to creep up. After an episode like this, I can’t function. It took me an hour of this nonsense before I could rack up enough strength to turn on the computer. I have college essays, scholarship applications, homework, school projects, lines to memorize, Fundraisers to think about…all I have to put on hold (sometimes for days on end) because I am just mentally exhausted. That, or I can’t work amongst the yelling.

As often as this happens, I know for a fact that my parents need each other, no matter how acidic their relationship is, but it’s gotten to the point where I’m even thinking that they need to split, or that they will split once I go off to college. And I won’t be the least bit surprised, nor will I feel anything from it. I’ve gotten desensitized to my breaking point now, I suppose.

I’ve decided to do this for a few reasons. I’ve never had anybody but myself to go to about all of this stuff, and I’m starting to think that if I don’t, I will do something horrible to myself or to my friends. Also, recently I decided to tell one of my best friends about it, and he told me that he already knew part of it. A few months ago, for fun, he googled my name, and my father’s record is the first result (because we share the same name). For those who have found out and didn’t act any differently towards me or my father, you don’t know how much I have to thank you, because I know who my real comrades are.

I am not looking for anything. I know I’m sometimes labeled as a sort of drama queen, overexagerater, or just looking for attention or sympathy, but I’m not. When I make it obvious, I’m doing it for a laugh. I don’t look for special treatment, because I always find it awkward afterwards, trying to find the right way to simply say, “Thank You.” I just needed to vent. And finally, after 17 years of fights, yelling, horrible actions, and door slams, I have.