I told Shanna that we are going to Portland for Thanksgiving to stay with my Dad. (An adopted parent–not the man who raped me.) Her response was, “But I want to go see my Grandmother.” Meaning Noah’s mom.

So now it seems that Noah and the girls are probably going to go to Texas for a weekend in December.

I can’t stop crying. I will probably now spend the day trying to hide because I don’t want to be asked why I am crying.

Because I hate that I am not part of your family. I’m not. I never will be. They don’t want me. I have no family. And near as I can tell the only person I have to blame is myself.

I am part of a family inside this house. Outside of this house I am nothing.

I don’t want to be asked why I am crying because I don’t want to lie and I don’t want to make my kids feel like me. I want my kids to want to know their grandparents. I want my kids to believe they have family.

I can’t fuck that up.