Anger
Someone once told me to be true to myself and tell them what was truly in my heart and mind. For me, that is extremely difficult. I am used to hiding feelings and thoughts, underneath layers of premises and walls, so much that at times I can believe that they are true. They always ask me: “Why is it so difficult to tell the truth? Why do you always say I don’t know?”
Why. Why. Why.
Is so surprising that I sometimes don’t have an opinion on things? That I can’t tell you what I like?
All my life I’ve been taught to agree with others, to avoid conflict, to be humble and think nothing of myself, and most of all- to hide everything inside.
My parents don’t love me. They love the 16 year me that they have enamoured themselves with, and refuse to see who I am now. Time passes, and people change. It is inevitable that during the teenage years someone will change drastically, but I believe that the essential core of a person does not. My mom has said that “I’ve become someone that she does not know” since my sophmore year in college.
Is that true?
Well I know some facts-
1. This year I did not go home much
2. I talk less to my mom
3. I have become more withdrawn
First of all, when did I like coming home? There is nothing here. Dad is at work all day. Mom cleans and cooks. Brother lazes around. There is little table talk, and sometimes I feel like there a lack of tangible love in the family. If I do something good, I am not awarded privliges. In fact, I get them taken away.
Mom always tells me that I cannot compare myself to my brother, since we are two different people, yet I am positive that she does. She has stated that she and my brother do not get along and argue, that he can’t help her with anything and doesn’t listen to her. He doesn’t care about schoolwork, and spends too much time on games. So, she “gave up on him,” which basically means she holds absolutely no expectations for him.
So all her expectations are on me.
I help her with billing and credit card issues by calling the company. When the Internet goes haywire, it is I who call because “it does not matter” to my brother and “if it’s bothering you so much, why don’t you call? I won’t.” Well, when the Internet disconnects every 5 minutes 15 times every night, doesn’t that warrant a call?
I do everything. Heck, I used to write checks for my parents. I know their socials, I know all the account information.
My brother can’t even remember my parents birthdays. Or my dad’s cell phone. At one point he didn’t even know our home address.
I’ve asked my mom why she doesn’t let my brother to do stuff. She says she trusts me, and my brother is bad at it anyway. Well, I reason that with practice, one gets better, right? I’ve only been doing it for 8 years because he never gets asked to do it.
I’m probably being ungrateful, but this is what I think.
What really ticked me off last week was how my mom treated my brother when he “broke the rules.” He had pissed off my mom, so she cut off Internet for him by removing his Ethernet cord. Then she forbid him from using Internet. Then- lo and behold, not a half day later- he was using Internet without her knowledge by using a spare usb cord. When she found out 2 days later, she merely asked, “Where did you find the cord?” and said nothing more. She didn’t even get angry! I don’t understand why- because for me I’m sure she would have.
I am almost 20 and have a curfew of 9 pm and a bedtime at 12am. Even 15 minutes past the allotted time is unacceptable. They actally check if I’m asleep at 12.20. My parents love it when I go to sleep at 9.30 pm- I can hear the happiness in their voices when they exclaim,”Oh! She’s asleep already!” Unfortunately, I only do that when I am depressed and sad. Whopee.
I get 12 hours of sleep in the summer. There is no point in waking up because there is nothing to do.
Anyway, the point of this long winded post was to list what I want to do right now
I want to…
Grab a knife and stab a pillow. Repeatedly. One, I really want to know the inside of a pillow looks like (what makes it so soft and comfy???) Two, I’m angry.
Carve curse words into my bedroom wall. They are bars anyways.
Sneak out.
Oh, I am such a flawed bad girl.
