Blame

I don't blame myself. As a matter of course, when it comes to things with my parents, I don't blame myself. When they got seperated (the last time because they kept us sheltered from the first few with excuses) and when they got divorced, they made sure to tell Joey and I that it wasn't our fault. That we didn't do anything wrong. And never once did it even cross my mind that I might be to blame. But this week, from yesterday after court to Thursday, I'm supposed to be at Mom's. Well, I told the law guardian I wanted to live with Dad and Mom got that fact out of me (I could see how much it hurt her and that killed me). So when Mom called and said that Ray has to go to Jersey for a gig and the ford broke (again), I couldn't help it. She told me that "this [had] nothing to do with what [I] told [my] law guardian". Didn't matter. She could have said that for eternity, sworn on the Holy Bible, but I wouldn't have believed it. It felt like it was because of what I said. It felt like it was my fault. I choked back my tears and finished the conversation. Then I had to make my face less I'm-trying-desperatly-not-to-cry to give the phone to Dad. That night, I finished my Godiva ice cream. I've been nursing that pint for over a month. A spoonful here, a spoonful there. I ate about 3/8 of the container that night. And still felt horrible. I know that it's probably not my fault but, it feels like it.