My mom is downstairs offering up pizza to teenage girls who are too carefree and naïve to want to get drunk, to want to smoke cigarettes, to want to feel anything other than the fun of their lives. They have not gotten their licenses yet, have not tasted the first bitter drips of pain, have not had to deal with the fact that people hate you for no reason. They have not yet had their first kisses. She is offering them pizza, finding out when they would like it, doting on them because they are young and perfect and they are not me.
I do not exist to her, she has not said anything to me since she came to Ian’s house to force me home. She made me drive, I was drunk, she didn’t know, I wasn’t going to tell her. If she knew, it would only ruin me in her eyes even more. I got home before she did, and went upstairs and locked the door and fell asleep, and now I no longer exist. I am the bad child, the devil spawn, the let down, the disappointment. I used to be the child who could do no wrong, I never fucked up, ever, they never yelled at me for grades or bad decisions. But now, it seems that all I do is fuck up and all they do is threaten to throw me out. I wish they would throw me out, it would be so much more preferable to this state of agony and solitude. This quietness, this trapping myself in my room so I don’t have to see her, screening my calls so I don’t answer to my dad… is unbearable. And it’s indefinitely. I’m going to remove the screen from my front window so that I can climb out at night, or people can climb in, whichever they prefer, so that I don’t have to be alone all the time. I can’t stand being alone. I asked for more me time, and this is what I get, this hell. I don’t want to feel this alone, because it’s cold and its lonely, as opposed to quiet solitude. Part of me wants to claw at her, scream FUCK YOU MOM at the top of my lungs and run out to a waiting car, my bags packed, important things stowed away. The other part of me knows that she’s just doing her job, but since when did parents jobs include making your kid feel like shit every second of the day? I know I fucked up, I know I let them down, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. Do they really think that harping about it for the rest of my life is going to make matters any better? Do they really think that if they yell enough and let me know how much of a disgrace I am, they can reverse time and I’ll make a better decision? Their doing all of this makes me proud that I messed up because I showed them I wasn’t perfect and I found out who they really are… unable to accept anything that seems out of the ordinary, unable to accept the weird, the mistakes, the things that make people human. I am happy that I have been drunk off my ass so many times in life that I would need more than fingers and toes to count them. I am happy that I smoke my fucking cigarettes, things that I used to swear up and down I wouldn’t do. I am happy that I did my drugs, that I’ve had my sex, created my scars. Fuck you mom and dad, I’m not an angel, I’m your own little hell beast, now accept it or tell me to move the fuck out.