What I want more than anything right now is to move out of my house and into my dorm room–or, hopefully, my apartment. I just want to be out of the house and living on my own. Where my roommates will appreciate the things I do and not treat me like Satan. Where it is okay if I wait until after I eat my ice cream to wash the scooper and not get criticized for never doing the dishes even though I do them more than any other kid in my family. Where when I say I will put my clothes away, I will do it in a second so you don’t have to yell at me. Where I clean my desk so that it is unrecognizable, but I leave a notebook or two out and it is considered a pig sty. Can you tell I have had a bad day?
I just feel so under-appreciated by my mother. Everything I do is completely overshadowed by the things I don’t do right this second. Nevermind that I will do it within the next five minutes (as long as it is not dire); doing that makes me lazy. Well, maybe what I am doing at that moment is just as important as–or more important than–putting my clothes in my drawers. It’s not like they had been sitting out; she hadn’t even given them to me yet.
Yes, I am grateful for everything she does, but I would like that same respect in return, at least every once in a while. Or just once.
I truly believe that I will be a happier and better person once I move out. I am not coming home until Thanksgiving, and then Christmas. I will be having the time of my life until Spring Break. Once summer hits and I am back living here for three months, who knows what I will do.
I cannot be the perfect daughter she wants, and it seems I am the only one with this pressure. I am the one to get yelled at for not doing the dishes, but if my little sister didn’t do them it’s no big deal. I leave my clothes out for a night and will put them away after work the next day and I am deemed “messy” or “raised in a barn,” but my brother can leave his clothes out forever with not a single word. And they are not even dirty clothes!
She pressured me so much to get perfect grades; anything less than an A basically meant certain death. My sisters had this type of pressure, but it wasn’t such a big letdown when they got Bs. True story: once, I got a 97% on a test, and my mother asked, “Well, why didn’t you get a 100%?” A 97% is still an A! What’s the problem. here?
If I went on a five week road trip with my best friend and had to leave five days later for a week-long camp, my mother would pester me to unpack every second of every day and still expect me to do all of my regular chores plus, ones my siblings just don’t do, as if I had all the time in the world. I wouldn’t even be able to enjoy being back in my own bed for a second. But has my mother acted this same way for her precious youngest child? No way. She’d be even less demanding about it if it was my brother. She let him miss a bunch of baseball practices and game so he could go to San Francisco with his friend and then Bass Lake with my dad, sister, and an abundance of his friends. I haven’t been able to go to the lake (my favorite place in the world) or skip anything because I had work or choir. My brother needs this baseball team because there was a lot of drama with his school team and coach. Did I really need every single choir practice? No, and I am always quick to catch up when I miss anything. Why am I so different.
I am not the oldest. I am not the youngest. I am not the only boy. I am the dumb middle child there for you to beat down whenever possible. I am either completely invisible or the one that gets nothing but picked on.
Isn’t your family supposed to be the people who support and love you? Of course, yelling and punishment comes along with that, but shouldn’t I feel some sort of encouragement at least once?
I need to get out this town. I need to get away from all the bad memories and the people that go along with them. I am totally fine with the amount of people I talk to, and which of them I will keep in touch with when I leave. I have found out who my real friends are; I wish I had realized who they are much faster than this, but I have them.
Stephanie and Ally, Gracie and Edie, Stacey, Taylor, Noah and Gaby, and of course, Natalie. Those are the people that matter to me. The people that make me smile and laugh when I don’t want to. Why can’t I just live with all of them instead of my house?
I just can’t wait to be out of here.
Granted, I am not looking forward to paying all of my bills and all that, but I am 100% ready for that transition. I want to be able to take care of myself instead of constantly relying someone who makes me feel like bird poop on her windshield. Life is a learning experience, and I don’t want to become my mother. I don’t want my daughter to feel like this because of me. My mother is breaking my heart and…I can’t breathe just thinking about doing that to my daughter. I don’t want any child of mine to grow up hating themselves or thinking for one second that I don’t care about or appreciate them.
I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
College is going to be a whole new experience for me, and I cannot wait. What on earth am I going to do for an entire month? No, really. My last day of work is August 15th and I don’t move in until September 15th. It is a whole freaking month. And a ton of my friends are leaving mid-to-late August. What am I going to do?
All I know is that one month with just my mom and me in the same house will end badly. We do not mesh well together. I follow the rules; I am a good person. I have never even sipped alcohol or done any drug, and she treats me like I am a delinquent. Would she rather I be poisoning myself with those substances?
I’ve always wondered what she would do if I was like those people: partying every weekend, doing drugs, drinking, etc. She makes me want to rebel. However, I wouldn’t know the first thing about obtaining a drug other than Advil or Tylenol.
You see, she may make me want to rebel, but she already treats me like I am. Rebelling, I mean. Does she realize how much time I spend in this house? Too much. I feel like she should be encouraging me to at least go out and do something. Go to the mall or out to lunch with my friends. But no, I am at home, watching Netflix or blogging.
I really do love this blog. I love being able to write my thoughts and feelings down. It’s so easy confessing to strangers, even though I couldn’t breathe a word about any of this to someone I know. They all know I keep a blog and they’ve seen my bio, but I’d die if they read it. Although, I secretly wish one of them would, just so that somebody would realize I am not okay. That I really am crazy. Or depressed. Or maybe getting myself into an eating disorder.
I am learning. I always will be. But I do not like the way I have been growing in my house. I am angry and pissed off all the time. When my mom accuses me of being a bratty, I become bratty, no matter what my mood was before. I HATE when people assume my attitude when they know nothing. You see? I am angry just thinking about it.
I see red when I am here. I cherish the time I spend away from her and this house. Don’t get me wrong, I love this house when I am home alone, or it is just the kids or my dad. I am fine with everything when my mother isn’t around.
And that is the worst part. I wish I had this amazing relationship with my mom, but I feel like I do not even have a good one. I can’t confide in her about anything–even a crush–because she will find a way to tell everyone. I could never tell her about my feelings. I am just a drama queen to her. That is truly all I am in her eyes, and I believe it.
To me, I am so much more. I am a girl with feelings and emotions. My number one strength is empathy. I love to learn. I like things my way, but who doesn’t? I am able to adapt to situations. I adore listening to everyone’s problems; I even thought about becoming a therapist. I really do care about other people. I put their happiness before my own. I love to please people, which can’t always work, I know, but hey, I’m learning! I want everyone to feel important because that’s something I never had. I am not this self-centered, bitchy queen bee my mother thinks.
I hope that by leaving, I can grow into the person I want to be, without the judgment and criticism I receive here. All I want is to prove that I am more than the girl my mother makes me out to be, the girl she is making me believe I am. I don’t want to feel worthless anymore.
Graduate, what’s a kid to do now?
Get away, yeah-ah.
We’ve got so much to prove.
Cause it’s time to move on
And I’m stuck to let go,
But then Wonderwall comes on the radio,
I flashback to the night in your parent’s yard,
When we drank too much and we talked about God…
Growing up, won’t bring us down.
That is my favorite verse and the first line to the chorus of “Growing Up” by the Maine. I highly recommend having a listen.
Maybe tomorrow I will have something happier to talk about. We’ll see. -A