I went home to see my bedroom a lot less, uh, "cluttered" than usual, and then I had to really control my temper in order not to lose it. I acted passive-aggressively after that -- I had to go out and retrieve two bags of my stuff that motherfucker stuffed into the recycling bin (glad I did that; recycling day's today), I stomped into my sister's room and my former bedroom to find my other stuff, and I didn't eat much dinner (there wasn't much I liked anyway). I didn't want to start a fight with My Fucking Father, but if My Fucking Father wanted to start a fight, I was ready to meet his challenge. But he didn't, so I didn't.
And yet my paranoia and anger still wells in me. I had to alter my plans tonight; I wanted to buy stuff at Target in anticipation of them coming back home, but I had to go to my storage unit to give my stuff safe harbor. But there is still one big bag of my stuff that, for some fuckin' reason, My Fucking Father put into my old room and not the recycling bin. He might've thought he couldn't throw it away. But after I leave in the morning -- and I will leave earlier than I do, and because it's Halloween, I won't be coming back till late -- I could see him going outside, looking into the bin, see that I pulled stuff out (if he hasn't already suspected it), and dumping the rest of my stuff there. Would he be so cruel? Yes. He's My Fucking Father.
The only reason I haven't is because, if he doesn't care enough to look at the bin in the morning, then he has done all he wanted to do, and moving even more stuff into storage is wasted energy when I have other shit I need to do. But considering this supreme violation, I cannot put anything past him. He had to fucking escalate again because he has nothing else in his life, that asshole.
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