The Theory of the Domino Affect:

About ten or so years ago, a band called Three Dog Night explained that one is the loneliest number. And let's face it; it was the anthem for recent break-ups. Even for the "dumper." And you would of thought more people would of tried avoiding being one, the "loneliest number" and stayed clear of being two, because two "can be as bad as one; the loneliest number since the number one."

And nobody likes being alone. Especially in your bed, twisted in sheets, with smelly pajamas and smelly armpits, feeling completely confused, remembering corny songs from the 70's, thinking about your past, staring at a leaky ceiling. And "it's just no good since you went away."

Okay, so I sent him away, but he needed help, and I couldn't help him, unfortunately.

This is hard to admit, like admitting that I wasn't worth telling the truth to, that I wasn't the one who made his heart skip beats that I wasn't fucking enough for him.

But I blame my parents.

Which I know is being reactive, instead of proactive. In the fifth grade my school counselor would come in and teach us something of "importance", something "we'd use later on life." She explained one day that being reactive is kind of being like a shaken up bottle of soda just waiting to explode: blaming others for your problems, lashing out at others, violence, drugs, et cetera et cetera. Now being proactive is having control of your life, accepting your screw ups, by not blaming others, and taking away something from them. I told her that anything that happens to me is because I fucked up and nobody is to blame but me. Her response was: "Well, Ellie, what if you were involved in a hate crime because you're an African American? Is it your fault that you're black?" My reply: "I probably deserved it. I probably pissed them off. It probably wasn't all because I was black. Just an excuse." She then said: "I wish I could take responsibility for things like you do." And she walked away from me.

That night, I was doing my homework, not bothering a soul, when my mother storms in drunk, she picks me up by my shirt collar and pins me up against the wall shaking me. Through gritted teeth, she says to me: "It's all your fault! It's all your fucking fault he's never home! I hate you and it's your entire fault!" She drops me to ground and slaps me across my face. "You worthless piece of shit!"

I gingerly touch my cheek and wince from the pain. Once I regain my equilibrium, I go back to my homework. I just stare at circumference homework that Ms. Weaver assigned. I glance from the compass blade then back to the math problems and back to the compass blade. I stare at the shiny point at the end. Danger was basically written all over it, all the pain was rising to the tip of needle. I grasp the blade with a shaky hand. "It is probably my fault he's never home." I dig into my skin and my body tenses, and now my whole body was shaking. "It's always my fault." I pull back on the blade, a thin line of crimson slowly emerging from the broken skin.

It wasn't the first time it had been all my fault, and it most certainly wasn't going to be the last.

But back to the topic of blaming my parents.

I have a theory called the "Domino Affect." It's like a game of dominos, but instead of dominos, you use all your relationships-- with friends, family, and boyfriends or girlfriends. Only you don't set it up. Your parents, parents, parents, parents, parents, et cetera, do. It's all their relationships and then your's, all the way at the back. And at any minute your bitchy Aunt Bertha can come by and tap the first domino/relationship over. Everybody stares as all the pieces fall on top of each other. They all turn to you. You take it as your cue, to pick up the pieces and put them in their place; you try to forget the heartbreak of when your boyfriend ran away, the loneliness you felt when your best friend left, and the regret after the person you loved and trusted and gave your heart and soul to throws everything away; everything you once had, everything you had that moment, and everything you could of had.