Living in a home with imaginary iron bars on the windows and doors. Sitting on an old “sea foam” couch in the so called family room, watching the lineup of reality shows on TBS. A sick dog lies by my feet keeping them warm. I lean over to see what’s happening on the other side of the TV that’s covered by a guinea pig cage. Gravity takes action and an unused exercise ball rolls in front, blocking my view. I stare into the kitchen only to see two more rabbit cages. I lay my head back and close my eyes letting out a long deep breath of air. I think to myself: When will this end? When can I become my own person and make my own decisions?
The phone rings, interrupting my thought. I struggle to get myself up from my comfortable butt imprint. I pick it up will a slow, uneasy grip. I mumble out a lazy “Hello” and immediately receive an answer from my friend with a question that I already know the answer to. “Do you wanna hang out?” Every time I hear that question I shudder. I tell her to hold one and that I will go ask my mom. Why the hell am I bothering with this, I already know just how it’s going to play out.
I walking into the other room with a frantically cleaning woman. Obviously dyed black short hair, an awkward shaped nose, and the shortest forty four years old I have ever seen. And to add on to that no sense of style; not that I would know what style is. I hate to sound like the stereotypical PMS-ing teenage girl that always says she hates her mother, but sometimes- not all the times –I just wish I could leave. The reason I say sometimes is that I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, it’s just I don’t think of here in the same way you may think of your mothers. My theory is, if I grow up with a mother like her I’ll know how not to be a mother. I already know how it feels to be the child of a “mother” like her.
Once she looks up from the floor that’s been washed a thousand times to notice me I ask. And just as I expected she gave me a look as if I was on some really strong crack. I complain, say how it’s unfair and all, but I have absolute no idea why I’m trying it will always be a no. I go back to the phone and give my best friend a plain unbelievable excuse that I know she doesn’t believe.
I’m the youngest in the family whish generally means the most perfected and watched on like hawk to a baby bunny. My brother on the other hand could go rob a bank and she wouldn’t care a big fat rat’s ass. My brother, I cannot begin to describe him. Well, weather I like to admit it or not, I love him. Yes, I love him. Without him I don’t think I would have made it alive through this hell whole I call my home. But where he comes into play makes me so mad, he could not be more worshiped by my mom. If she loved him anymore they would be making out right now. And that makes it worse. Yes, its call jealously ever have it? Well it really sucks when it’s for the person you constantly look up to.
If only she would pay attention to her own kid more that she pays attention to dogs or rabbits and even have every color of every shirt on QVC. Which you can’t go in any rooms in the house without seeing twenty unopened packages of “old lady” shirts in every single color you can imagine.
I feel like a hamster in a cage, everything you need to survive but not what you need to stay sane. The world is said to have beauty. I wish I could see in in real life, not on a distorted TV screen from the 40’s. The not knowing is what will send me into a rehab. I may seem like I am complaining every time I talk about it, but I don’t see you living with her.
Years past before people start snapping (including me). Things change, but there are something’s that a person just can’t get out of the head.