I want to run away. I just want to get away. I play it so well, don't I? Happy, perfect life; nothing's ever wrong. I look so happy and exuberant, don't I? I'm outgoing and outspoken. I am; really, I am. And I'm happy too.
But, maybe that's because I don't want to face the fact that my life is less than perfect. I don't want to think about my family and our problems. I don't want to face the fact that my father has feelings, too, and he just doesn't show it. I don't want to know how much I've hurt him. I don't want to hear my brother call me a bitch, over and over. I don't want to think about him throwing my phone at the window, pieces everywhere. I don't want to think that my mom can't handle anymore. I don't want to think about the fact that we never spend time together, just the four of us. I don't want to know how much my brother hates me. I don't want to know if I've made him this way.
On the way to church this morning we discussed how we were going to get a Christmas tree this afternoon and then decorate and bake lots of cookies. I was excited. I seriously was looking forward to it; it was gunna be fun. It was going to be something we did as a family. Other than church Sunday ams and the occasional mean here and there, I honestly can't remember the last time we did something together.
On the way home from church we stopped at Copps so Mom could get something. As she was in the store Michael, Dad and I were laughing at this guy that has spilled a gallon of eggnog in the parking lot. I was thinking how good that sounded (except not on the parking lot cement) so I was getting out my cell phone to call Mom's cell. Dad said I couldn't/shouldn't, but I continued to take out my phone. I can't tell you if I would have really called her or not, I don't know if I would have. Probably. Instead, Michael grabs my cell phone as he sees me taking my phone out. I reach over and try to get it back. "Bastard," he says. I'm like "Give me my phone!" "Bitch," he replied, as he threw my phone in front of my head at the window as parts flew everywhere. I tried to remain calm. I'm good at that. I can push things out of my "emotion box" if I really want to and then just bring it out later. I calmly collected the parts for my phone and put it together. Surprisinging, it works. When I got home, I went to my room, threw my jacket on the floor, crawled among the many covers in my bed, clung to my pillow and cried.
Did I make him this way? What the hell did I ever do to make him hate me so much? I look at my friends and their brothers, and no way on earth would they treat them like he treats me. I know I haven't been the best sister and I hate myself for it. I know I could have done better, but now he's calloused and angry.
I'm not telling Mom what happened. I know she couldn't handle it. She tries so hard to make things good and right for us. She just wants us to get along real well. Dad tries really hard, too. But, it's easier for him to not discipline us, I guess. It's honest hell on earth when my brother gets pissed at my parents, and I know that's why he avoids punishing him. And then I get frusterated with Dad because he always sides with my brother, because he's knows it's really hell on earth when he tries to correct my brother, and he'd just rather not deal with it. I can understand that, I guess.
He's been so difficult lately. I'm sure I usually am, too. But, they're making him go to Sylvan learning to help with school because he's really behind. He repeated over and over and over today, "I'm not going to that hell house." He puts up a fit everytime it's brought up, and everytime it's not.
I just don't know how we got here. So unhappy, so distant from each other. I have about 8 months left at home now, and it bites hard when I think about the fact that I really don't have a family anymore. Part of it is my fault. A lot of it is my fault. The fact that I'm never home, obviously doesn't help. But when I am here, we're always fighting, it seems. I want to run away. I just want to get away. No, on second thought, I don't. I just really want us to be happy and a family. I want my parents back and I want my brother to stop being such a fucking moron. I want to be home and I want us to just get along. Maybe I've been keeping this boxed up inside me for a long time and maybe I didn't want to face it. But, when I'm home, I have to face it. I have to life with it, and I have to realize that my life isn't this perfect, nice little thing that most people think it is.
As these fits of rage were taking place and tears were falling rapidly this afternoon, Dad slammed the freezer door shut. The happy faces on the pictures fell to the floor. I'd say about 7 or 8 pictures. It's really symbolic, in all honestly. Those fake smiles, the cute faces, our arms around each other. It all fell to the ground. It was the worst sound ever. The door slamming shut. The plastic the pictures were in slapping the floor. A few minutes later Dad picked them up again, but it didn't feel like it. It feels like they're still laying there, broken. I told him I was sorry over and over. "Me too," he said, "I just want to go away and never come back."
~Sarah
