The “Family”
7/12/1967

Dear Diary, I finally left my house, I just couldn't take it anymore. My mother always tried to control me, and make me that perfect daughter. She just couldn't accept the fact that I’m not Miss America, or that all American country gal. School ended back in May, and I just couldn't stay in that house any longer. I need to be free and live on my own with no one telling me what I can or can’t do. Now I’m on a train heading to San Francisco, where I overheard someone saying, that’s the place you want to be when you’re leaving home.
7/16/1967

I finally arrived to San Francisco. When I walked off the train this huge stench of weed came upon me. I looked up and saw a banner that said “Summer Love.” Maybe finally I will find my one true love, since no one back in my hometown was my type, or really understood me. Once I left the train station these strange hobo liked people flocked the streets. I quickly ran to the nearest motel, and requested for a room for the night. That’s where I am now; sitting in this disgusting room, which I am pretty sure hasn't been sanitized or necessarily cleaned in over six months. How can this place be the place that I should be? Everyone I have seen so far is dirty, has long hair, and is in desperate need of a shower. But I know something good must be here, otherwise no one would recommend San Francisco as the place to be, and maybe I just have to open my eyes and not judge everyone as much.
7/22/1967

It’s been six days and I think I have officially come to the conclusion that these people are crazy, insane, and pretty much anything else that comes to mind. To start off, they sleep outside, wherever and whenever they please, like on park benches in the middle of the day. Second, everyone is smoking weed, and this other plant, which I’m not too sure what it is, and always hanging out around convenience stores. Thirdly, I am convinced that they never shower or show any attempt to have decent personal hygiene. On the bright side, everyone is always happy and in a good mood, and no one is telling me what to do.
7/26/1967

God people irritate me, I have been living in this horrid motel for ten days, and the motel manager finally decides that I have to pay more because I am living here. If intended to live here I would have actually rented out an apartment, not a scummy cheap motel room. So here I am now living on the streets, along with the other people, I might as well just become a hobo. Dear Diary it’s later in the day well actually night, I know that I don’t usually write twice in one day but I can’t sleep. It’s too hot outside, I need air conditioning, the ground is cold, and I would do almost anything for a bed. This city never seems to sleep; people are always out and about, and doing the same activates as some do in the middle of the day. People are singing, instruments are playing, and people are walking around like they have no clue what is even going on. Great, I don’t think I will ever get any sleep tonight.
7/27/1967

Just when I thought my night couldn't have gotten any worse it did. Someone stole half of the money I had left which was about $40 dollars. Now I can’t even buy a train ticket to somewhere else, or even another motel room. So now I have no choice but to become one of these people, or at least attempt to fit in, I just can’t live on the streets, someone must have a place I can stay. I guess I am already starting to fit in a bit better, my hair is a mess, and I want my daily morning shower, but I guess I’m not getting that.
7/30/1967

Three days is just too long for me to be homeless, I need a shower and to actually go to the bathroom in a non-public bathroom, which are the most repulsive place I have even been in. I want a roof over my head, and to not be woken up in the middle of the night by police officers, saying I can’t sleep here. I am on the verge of crying, you are the only reason I am still sane. Never mind a tear just shed, scratch that tears are now streaming down my face. Oh god, this short man with a wild beard and crazy hair is walking towards me.

My luck is actually starting to get better, that weird man that was walking towards me earlier today is actually the nicest, sweetest man I have ever met. He’s letting me stay at his house for as long as I need to, which will be until I figure out what I am supposed to do in life. The house is livable, way better than that gross motel, but there are other people here, they call themselves a family, but I don’t think that they are related.
7/31/1967

Today had been so much fun, even though it’s my first actually day living among the family. To start my morning off everyone shared a couple of blunts, when Patricia passed it to me I refused because I’m not comfortable with doing illegal activities, but I don’t mind being around it. Then around lunch we walked around town, and everyone kind of broke up and went their own separate ways. I stuck with him my savior we walked through the park together, and I told him why I am here in San Francisco, and then he told me his story on how he got here. He said that he came here to spread his music and hope to become a well know artist. And then he started quietly singing to himself, he had the voice of an angel. We finally all got back together and went back to the house
,
8/23/1967


Dear diary, I’m sorry that i haven’t written you in a while. Things have become so different. I have a new family. This is what i have been waiting for. Last night he took it, and i loved every second of it. He is sleeping right now and i woke up early because i had to write about it. His eyes glisten when he stares at me. I can feel his love. It warms my body whenever I think about it. i don’t think i will ever be able to forget those wild eyes. He’s waking up now I will write later.
9/1/1967

Where am I? Diary you should see HIM. You should feel what I’m feeling, its indescribable and exhilarating. LOOK! Oh diary where did he go? I need him, when he is abstinence from my present I just don't feel complete.
10/13/1967

This wine is just SOOO amazing, i have never drank anything so delicious in my life. I wonder where he gets it from? Or why he never wants to drink any of it. Its probably because he is just so caring, and puts others before himself. I wish i was his one and only.
10/14/1967

He won’t even talk to me, why won't he talk to me? He hasn't even looked at me yet today? I thought I did everything right last night, i listened to what he preached, I did what who he wanted me to do. It’s someone else now, its probably that brunette Patricia, hes always talking to her in private, and sneaking with around her. Why won’t he do that with me? What makes her so much different and more wanted than me? He loves her i know he does. It’s alright though, she is family, and family comes first. She has been part of the family longer than me.
10/17/1967

I need to leave here diary. Yesterday HE made me do something my old self would never do. He told me if i didn't do it then i didn't love him or deserve to be part of this family. That i mustn't disobey him, I have to trust him. I had to do it. I love him so much. It was disgusting. I haven’t even talked to my mom in so long. Everyday I have these terrible headaches until I see him. Every night I can’t sleep. I barely even remember my name. The old man called me baby doll. Everyone has been calling me it since. I can’t do this any longer.
10/18/1967

He took it pretty well actually. Better than I had planned. He kept trying to make me drink his wine though. I didn't, but it was hard. I know it’s because of wine, why I get my headaches. I need to see my real family. I want my bed, and my home back. I hope my real family will even accept me back.
10/27/1967

Back home I go. I will never forget him. His long greasy hair. His beautiful glistening eyes, and his amazing wine. He taught me a lot about myself. I’m not good with people. I need to see my mom again. She will help me. It’s what she’s always tried to do. I just never listened.

I can’t believe how hard it was to say goodbye to the family. They treated me a lot better than I treated them. I guess I will always be this person. No matter how hard I try to change I will always be my mothers child. I belong with these Yankee’s. The sky is blaze orange right now. Maybe God is trying to show me that I never should have left what I had. The wind is blowing silently through the trees. It reminds me of the way he whispered in my ear. Here comes the train now. Thank you diary, for being the only one that let me be me.
10/30/1967

Home sweet home. I am going to walk the rest of the way, since I have absolutely no money left. I will write later.

She’s gone. So is the house. Diary I don’t know what to do. I’m going to the police station.

She’s dead. I have no family now. I have nowhere to go. I miss him so much. Why did I leave? He probably hates me so much and won’t ever take me back. My head hurts so bad. My body is weak. Where do I go from here?
11/1/1967

Where else do i have to go, my friends have all left to college, my mother is gone. Me and my brother don’t really share the same views on life, and haven’t gotten along since the day we were born. Finally my dad is a dirty alcoholic, who I haven't talked to in years. But I guess its worth a shot to find him, i don’t think i have any other choose.
11/7/1967

I found my dad, he isn't exactly the man i remembered from 8 years ago. He sobered up, hes now actually saving his money instead of wasting it every night on getting drunk. He’s glad that i found him, and missed me. I can't wait to reunite with my dad and actually form that daughter father relationship that must be rebuild.
12/8/1967

Diary you won’t believe this! I can’t even! My old family snuck into a house and killed her. Stabbed her multiple times in the stomach while she was pregnant! How could he, let alone them? Well not actually him, but my family, they all have souls and i just can't imagine them doing such a horrid thing. Its a good thing i left and came home. But my feelings are still here, no one can compare to him, and i don’t think anyone ever will. He is completely and utterly unforgettable.