Get Me Out Of Here AlreadyThe first thing I hear when, no, the thing that woke me up at 08:00 was the banging of the shower door in my parents bathroom. My head hurt and my neck sore. Obviously I’d have no peace and quiet today. The smashing continued and then the annoying tone of mothers voice accompanied the orchestrated madness. When that woman is up, chaos is let loose. I got SMSs from her them. “Go take Xena’s bed outside. Wash the dishes and wipe the counters. Go hang up the washing. Go do thing, go do that, This. That. I order this, I order that.” Okay, I did it. Did I get a please or a thank you? No. Not one. Made my bed, tidy the books lying around my room, get dressed, for once actually ate breakfast – what else could I do to avoid being the victim today? Apparently nothing. I don’t know what her problem is!
My sister and I just wanted to stay at home so that we could study for our freakin’ exams. I write maths on Monday and my sister Monday and Tuesday. Why the heck can’t she and Dad just go out? And he’s willing to. BUT NO, she must throw a scene! She has to just whip out her so detailed swear-dictionary. She has to start banging the pots and pan-goetejties around. She must bring my sister close to tears for no fluffy flower fish finger reason. She has to throw a few daggers at me to remind me (as if I didn’t know) how worthless I am. Thanks, I got it. But rather pick on me than my sister that’s about to write her important exams that’ll help her get out of this hell-hole. Dad, of course, being the patient person he is, just sits in the study, waits for her to finish slinging her insults of around. Then he comes to tell my sister and me that we mustn’t worry, that she’s just not feeling well. Well, call me a tuna fish and put me in the vegetable section: she **** feel sick every French toast, bacon and egging day!
My sister and I work our ***** off just to please her and we never do! We’re never good enough. We can’t even be good enough for ourselves. Less than 85% is a suicide wish for Pete’s sake. And, no, mother and father, it doesn’t help you telling us you’re proud of us or that we can do better next time or that our results are good: they’re not! They never will be! You pushed us since I can remember and thank you for that – we’ve learnt to persevere and not give-up, but you’ve both drilled into us that we can never be better. We can never make you happy unless we’re the best of the best. Your eldest daughter has a place in University to stay: she can study her medicine/engineering/BSC now. You’re happy, right? You’ve seen how she’s had to turn-down dates with friends and times she could just spend being a child? Mother, I’m so sure you’re extremely proud of her. Your youngest wants to be in the air-force. Yes, mother, I DO NOT want to be a school teacher. I do not want to be a nurse. I do not want to follow your dreams you did not follow. I do not want to take after you.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I can’t not say something back. I am so fed up. I’ve held my tongue for so many times that I can’t even remember how many days I had to continuously taste metallic flavours in my mouth. But I still shut-up. I shut-up before I say or do something that will let the massacre lose. One day is one day I’ll take those pills I’ve stashed away in my cupboard and she won’t have to bother about me.
And the classic I’ve-********-my-moer-and-now-I’m-locking-myself-up-in-my-room move! Nice, really mature! Taking the car and riding to who-knows-where? Please, do so more often. So you may lock yourself out, not eat at all, swear under your breath, go moan about how horrible we are to other people, but the minute I have something to say, you want to push my jaw in? Don’t expect me to want to hug, kiss or touch you in any way after I have to stand between you with glass in your hand and my sister. You don’t even come anywhere close to my sister. She’s practically the only family I have. Do not expect me to say I love you after I have to endure endless nights and days listening to your taunts. Do not expect me to talk to you if I’m not in the mood to. Don’t try to sweet-talk your way to me after you’ve thrown divorce threats at him for him only trying to help you. Do not expect me to be kind and caring. Don’t. I won’t. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can.
After matric I’ll try, to the best of my abilities, to be gone. I’ll get a bursary far away. I’m work to get away. I’ll disappear and you can have all the space and money you want. You won’t even know I exist anymore. You’ll be dead to me. And I pray I will be to you too.
Floydess 18-21, F 4 Responses 1 Jun 17, 2011