April 3, 2013

  • This is why I write.

    Sitting, happily with friends as we converses about the most insane and awesome yet slightly fucked up video idea we have yet. Enter a call that changed the course of the night, at least for a little while. I leave a group of amazing people at my own house and find myself at my mother's, transferring things from my sister's room to my car.

    My brother stays in his room. As far as I can tell by the light shining from under the door, he's up but not doing anything. He's the reason I was there, so I made sure to verify his location. It didn't change the entire time I was there so I didn't worry much about him while I was transferring things back and forth. And I had reason to worry. 
     
    "When dad is here and gets mad at him, he gets so scared. But once dad leaves, he turns into something worse than dad." 
     
    If that were possible, anyway. Unfortunately, it is. And it is the reality. I watched my sister as she cried tears of frustration at the way my brother reacted to her as well as the way he refuses to admit that he is just as mentally unstable as the woman who birthed him, if not more. She refused any form of physical contact in comfort and sent me to retrieve her things from the house she had lived in for her entire life. And she didn't intend to return for anything.
     
    "Don't come back! You are all ungrateful! I am the woman who gave birth to you. You would not exist if not for me! Don't come back!" she spoke in the loud voice that reminded me where I got it from. 
     
    I didn't acknowledge majority of the words that came out of her mouth. I barely uttered a word to her other than a quiet but firm "get out" or "move". I tried to block her out with my thoughts and my fifteen year old (fucking fifteen years old) sister yelling back at my mother how sick she is of hearing her talk the way she is. I stayed silent as I wiped the sweat from my brow and shuffled things to my car. 
     
    I refused to look at her. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't deal with her. I couldn't bear to see the scared and sad look in her eyes as she spoke. No matter what she said, that was all she felt. It's all she's ever felt. She had no other way of expressing how fucked up she became because of all the things she has had to go through. All of the things that this motherfucking bitch put her through.
     
    Are you happy, now? Don't you LOVE what you have done to this? Have you enjoyed watching how you affected us? Is that how you love us? Is that you showing us how much you fucking love us, daddy dearest? 
     
    And the worst part is the fact that I would be nothing of what I am today if it weren't for you continually fucking up each and every single one of us. I hate that I have to be grateful that if it weren't for the fact that you never ceased to screw us over.
     
    Because otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to become the amazing people that we have been. 
     
    I hate that the biggest factor of our beauty had to be your repulsiveness. 
     
    And I have never had any other way of expressing how fucked up I had been because of you, other than this. 
     
    -- ZelleZ