4She Wished
She cried. The gaping hole in her chest was causing her an unbearable amount of pain. She gasped; it would not be long before she gave in to her torture. She couldn't hold on any longer; each breath was harder and harder to take; they turned into ragged hiccups. Tears flowed down her cheeks like rapid rivers; she could not understand why she was feeling this way. She was never physically or sexually abused. Her mom loved her, as did her dad. So why did she feel like just giving up; like just throwing away everything just to escape?
She tried to slow down her tears. It worked; sort of. Her tears were now at constant drizzle; little sniffles accompanying her tears. She tried to think when she was truly happy. She came up with a few moments; when she and her parents and her sister sat down at the dinner table in their little townhouse. Everyone was laughing merrily; it created a bubble of hope and happiness within her soon to be crushed by the rolling thunder clouds above.
She silently cursed her naivety, if she had only known how idiotic it was to believe in something so ridiculous- her family was never a family. It never was; and would never be. She wondered why she couldn't just have been born into a normal family; one where mommy actually loved daddy and didn't want to scream, yell, and throw things at him. She wondered why she was the one to be born into a family where money was always tight, where cultures and religions constantly crashed. She wondered why she had to be the one born into a family where daddy said nothing that happens between he and mommy should affect her. She laughed scornfully; yeah right, because what happens at home has no effect on your children whatsoever. She thought disdainfully.
Her thoughts strayed to her sixteenth birthday. She remembered the agony she felt, right on her birthday too. She got out a pen and paper, and decided to write down her thoughts on what happened. She silently wanted to give it to them; to let her parents know of all the things that was troubling her. But she knew she couldn't; showing tears or emotions in her house was a sign of weakness.
Dear fucktards;
You guys are hilarious. Telling me about getting a divorce literally two days before my birthday and expecting it not to hurt. Couldn't you have waited until after? So I could at least enjoy something that had no significant value to you, dad, since it's not your birthday, but mine? Did you really think that when I was younger and you guys fought a lot that I wouldn't notice? I was fucking nine; I can still remember when you walked out on us dad. You did that like once a week. You would leave, sometimes for the whole day and night and come back the next morning. Sometimes I wondered if you would come back at all. I didn't pay much attention to it though; I thought all dads did this. I'd always ask mom where you went, and she would just say 'away, hopefully forever.' I didn't say anything in reply. Ma, do you remember when I was perhaps 11, and we were riding the bus home from the mall because dad was too busy purifying himself at home to pick us up? I asked you if you and dad could stop arguing so much. You asked me why, I told you because I didn't like it. You said okay, and I laid my head on your shoulder for the rest of the ride home. Do you know how much courage I had to pluck just to be able to ask you that? I had to go through talking to a friend of mine for days, maybe even weeks, working out scenarios of how to bring it up. I could never ask dad that because he wouldn't even care. He would just tell me not to worry about it and that everything would be a-ok. Bull shit! Look at the mess we're in now. I really believed you mom; when you said okay. I thought the fights would just stop, that I wouldn't have to bite back tears every night when I heard you two fighting for some silly reason. I felt so stupid for asking you two to cooperate. I should've known that you two are as mature as five year olds when it came to respecting each other's differences. It's not like you guys are any better now anyway. All I hear is 'money money money money money'. You guys always say I talk about money. Well, HELLO, when it's all I hear about, it's all I'm going to talk about. It's nothing abnormal.
She put down her pen. Her hand had a cramp from writing so much. Her mind was buzzing with anticipation. She had never written anything about her family issues. Just thinking about it all made her want to cry. She was a mess. She kept skipping school, handing assignments in late, and all the while hiding it from her parents. She didn't know why she couldn't focus on anything at school; it seemed like everything the teacher said was out of range, she couldn't grasp anything. She constantly told herself she had to worry; that she had to pick her grades up since her last year in school was an epic failure. She tried, she really did, to get back those good habits she had in middle school, of always doing her homework right after school. But she always did the same thing every day; she always went back online to talk to her pretend friends. She didn't know what friends were. According to her dad, friends will only backstab her and use her until she was dry. She couldn't trust anyone. She didn't even know how to trust.
But she did learn to trust one person. Every day she wondered if trusting her with certain things was a bad idea; she always had her dad telling her that no one would be there for her; no one but her family. She couldn't help but smile sardonically. Yeah, dad, where were you when I cried my eyes out when you guys were going to get divorced? Where were you dad, when mom was in the hospital giving birth to me? Where were you dad, when I was feeling sick to stomach because of everything that was at home? Where were you dad, when I wanted someone to talk to? When I needed help? When I had a fight with my friend? 'At work' probably, like you always say. Where were you when I wanted a big hug? Where were you when I had questions about stupid insignificant things? Praying, probably. Praying that you would get out of this miserable place and that you would find a lovely wife ten years younger than you that would give birth to five sons and maybe one daughter. Praying that your next wife would cook and clean without complaining about what little you do like mommy does; praying that your new kids would be A-plus students that only come home to study for five hours then clean. Praying that you'd never hear from me again, praying that my sister would never talk to you because she's such a screw up. Praying, just praying, for stupid things that won't happen.
She knew her thoughts were going on deaf ears, she knew no one would ever see the tears glistening on her cheeks right then. She knew no one would even care to know about the pain she felt. She wasn't allowed to display emotions; she had to be a rock. The moment she let her guard down was the moment she was vulnerable. She was done with being vulnerable; she was finished with trying to make things work. What was the point of even trying to be good and happy and nice when all around her she could only see a pile of rubble where her family once lay? Or perhaps they were just a pile to begin with.
She cursed herself for relying on her family so much. She cried for the fact that she didn't have a family. She wished she didn't have to wish for a family that actually liked each other. She wished she could only have one culture instead of two, she wished she could only have to deal with one religion instead of two. She wished her sister could get along with her dad, that it wasn't some kind of World War Three whenever the two encountered one another. She wished her mom would just shut up about money and being depressed and having fuck ups for kids. She wanted to scream. She wanted to just scream to her mom, just tell her that Of COURSE her kids would be fuck ups! Look at the fucking environment she had around her!
But of course, to her dad, nothing that happened at home should affect her. She should just smile and act like nothing at all would happens at home; like everyone was just 'hunky dory' as her parents put it. She mourned for the fact that she couldn't just tell someone of all the problems at her place. She wished she could go to someone, someone that could change everything at home, make it all okay, make her forget, make her oblivious. She knew she could talk to a teacher; but what would they do? Just tell her to hang on, probably. Her family could still provide shelter, food, and her basic needs. They weren't harming her in any way. Well, except for her emotional needs. She knew that even if they took her out of her home it would just make things worse. She knew her mom she become even more depressed than she already was. She knew her dad would be extremely angry with her, and if he ever stayed after that to talk to her he would just shun her even more than he did at present.
She wished she didn't have to be her.
Sometimes she felt like she was blowing things out of proportion. She hated when people complained about stupid small things, but still had a lot. Sometimes she thought she was just whining. She didn't really know what problems were. She didn't know if other people had the same problems at home. Her one friend had family issues too. But she didn't see her cry. But then again, her friend had never seen her cry either. She guessed they didn't trust each other as much as they thought. She knew no one had seen her cry, well, except for a different friend. They were polar opposites though; while her friend was interested in Hollister and Lacoste, she was interested in big platform boots and dread falls. She figured it didn't matter at all; after all they knew each other since the sixth grade. They were both in the eleventh grade. Five years, she mused, isn't that long enough? I thought appearances didn't matter after you've been friends for so long. She didn't care that none of the people she knew looked and were interested in the same things as she was. She thought they didn't care either. For the most part, one of her friends didn't care. But the other, she rarely spoke to. Maybe she'd get lucky enough to go to lunch with her once a month. Even then, they barely went into details about what happened. Sometimes she wished she could just cry; just cry and let the whole world see her at her weakest moment. That way whatever happened after that she wouldn't have to worry about putting a big, fat front up anymore. She felt pathetic. She didn't want this. She didn't know why she had to do any of this. She didn't know why she had to put up with this. It's life, she thought; using the same words her dad always did.
She wished she could be one of those girls from a fairytale. One of those girls that had a difficult childhood (though she didn't like to think of her life as troubled, she knew her reality and knew that things were much harder for her than it was for the average Canadian), but in the end, found her prince charming and rode off into the sunset. She would've been happy then. She would've thought that all of this would've been worth it. But she knew. She knew it was all a big, fat lie. She knew there was no such thing as 'Prince Charming', and she knew that even if there were, she'd be too scared to trust him with anything.
It's been half a year. She's grown a lot. From her previous dying academic record, she has grown to achieve about an eighty average. She can smile a lot more; she had friends.
But she was frozen.
She never relied on her emotions to last. She couldn't rely on people to last. Every person she had told anything to had left her, left her for a new boyfriend, for better friends. What was it that her father had said? 'Friends will only backstab her and use her until she was dry.' Well, now she couldn't trust anyone. Every time previous friends had passed by she couldn't look at them without some sort of a longing look. She missed who she was, years ago.
She missed be oblivious.
She had cleaned up her life; she had stopped making a mockery of herself. But in no means had she cleaned up her life. She felt worse, far worse than she had six months ago. At least then she had alcohol, but after coming home drunk twice, her dad put a stop to it. Being religious takes away calming yourself from fucked situations without religious guidance. Reading a book would not calm her soul; it would not save her from herself. It would blind her from reality; to believe something better is there for her. What was it her father had told her? 'I hope you get what you deserve! Whether it be bad or good, I truly hope you get what you deserve!' He should've just said he hopes she would die a terrible death. After all, she didn't respect him like he wanted her to (because he was her father), so why should she have a good life? She didn't think respect should just be given, because of a status. She didn't choose to be his daughter; for fuck's sake, she didn't even choose to be alive! But she was, and she had to deal with it.
Her mother had taken her to her doctor. The doctor that never did anything. She ended up bawling her eyes out and kept quiet most of the time. Her doctor had told her she was reactive depressive. She wanted to laugh scornfully. What kind of bullshit was that? She wasn't depressed. She didn't think she was depressed. Her doctor had told her she'd get her a psychologist, and urged her to take medicine for her depression, just to 'cleanse' herself of such feelings. She had adamantly refused. But she had agreed to a psychologist. She knew something was wrong with her, she just didn't agree with the depression suggestion.
She never got to speak to a psychologist. She figured it was because neither of her parents' insurance could cover it. So that's it, huh? Deny what could help your child because insurance can't cover it. She didn't care. The more she thought of it, she knew she wouldn't be able to speak at all about herself. She was mute. She had muted herself.
She was terrified of speaking of herself. Every time she thought about telling someone, anyone, about her life, her mind screamed at her that she could never, ever, do it. She knew she was too terrified to get into any meaningful relationship. Despite her parents' lovely marriage, she still wanted to believe a man and a woman could fall in love and rely on and care for each other so deeply. She still wanted to believe that all she would ever need would be one man.
But that sort of relationship required trust, and a lot of communication. And she knew she couldn't do either. The thought scared her to death. She knew if she even got remotely close to such a thing, she would become deathly loyal and never leave their side. And she knew, putting that much trust in someone, a person, a person that would surely leave her, was the biggest mistake she could ever make.
She had resolved to live alone. By herself, maybe with a pet. At least the pet would not be tempted to leave her after a bit. She was terrified of being left alone, so she purposely isolated her so she wouldn't have to deal with her emotions after someone left her.
She hated people. Every time she thought of all the people in life, she had a sudden surge of anger to push them onto the ground and punch their face in. She was deathly loyal, and she expected the exact same from those she had previously trusted. And she had not gotten it. Being ditched was not on her priority list.
It was ironic though, people did not consider her to be loyal. She knew why though; once she had judged someone and deemed them unworthy of loyalty, she would leave. She knew how to read people, quite well. She also would leave once such a person would harm her in any way, or put her in a somewhat dangerous situation. Did leaving in those situations make her disloyal? Then she was fine with that.
Again, that was ironic all on its own. Once she had chosen to be loyal to a person, she was there, forever. Even if they put her in a bad situation, she would forgive them. She would tolerate it, because she knew what kind of a person they were. And that had gotten her in many bad situations. Leaving them, because of her parents, was a hard thing to do. Once someone had lent an ear to her, had lent a hand to help her, even in the slightest, she would be there. She felt pathetic for such a trait.
She knew she was a giant soft mess inside. She knew she wasn't a cruel person. But she also knew she had to put up protection against the outside world. She had seen it; she had seen what people could to her. She wouldn't be taken by surprise any longer. She wouldn't be attacked any longer.
Everyone was held at an arm's length away. No one would ever come close to her again. She had built a barrier around herself. Every time she thought about what she had to do to protect herself, her heart crushed. She knew it wasn't the right thing to do. But it was all she knew how to do. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Any sort of happiness she'd crush- she knew happiness was forever impermeable and out of grasp. The only emotion she could properly process was anger- she was angry every day. The smallest things would irritate her; she wanted so badly just to let herself go. She wanted to lose her temper and just smash everything she could get her grasp on; she was sick of keeping her temper in check, she was so sick of not having any venting.
But she also knew she could never, ever, let herself go. She knew she could destroy everything she had so carefully built. But what's the difference? Any sort of delicate relationship I have with my parents are smashed all the time. Any friendship I have with a person ends as fast as it begins. There is simply no solution.
She had to leave. She wanted to leave so badly. She wanted to run away, to hide, to forget her life. She wished she could just get amnesia. She didn't want to exist. She wanted to escape. She wanted to run away, to a place where life was utopia and she didn't know her past, or her present. She wished so badly she wasn't able to think properly; but more like teenagers. Teenagers that just threw things away with no second thought, teenagers that just landed where ever the wind took them, teenagers that had very limited thought processes outside of the box given. Isn't that called stupidity?
Her dad thought she was stupid. At the same time he always complained that she thought she knew it all at age sixteen. That line alone made her want to beat his face in. She never acted like she knew it all. She knew she barely knew anything. At the same time, she knew she was much, much more mature than she should be at her age. She had missed out on being a teenager. Then again, her dad would just say she's always having fun and never working. She was lazy, stupid, and useless. Did he neglect to mention that she was also a mistake and a regret? He hadn't.
She could never get married. Give herself, her soul, dedicate her life to a man? A man that would never have the same mentality as herself? That would just think she 'loved' her because she had a body he desired? One that could give him children too! A body that would work outside and inside of the house, a body that would take care of their children, a body that would only give him false emotions? A body that would give her false security? A man that would neglect her emotionally, intellectually, mentally? A man that would neglect her and any kids? A man that would confine her to specific work? A man that would only sought his physical needs, by using her body and thinking that he was fulfilling hers too? No thank you, she did not want any man ruled by his penis and not his heart nor his mind. Men were scum, she didn't care if there was even a SLIGHT percentage of 'good' men. She hated people. Men included.
She wanted so badly hit something, again and again and again. Just to feel the satisfaction of beating something, anything, with her bare hands. Just to feel the raw pleasure of letting herself go, of letting herself see red, of channelling all her anger and rage and hatred that had ruled her for so long.
She couldn't even process all of her emotions. One minute she'd be filled with rage, the next with such a deep sadness she could barely move. Some days she would wake up and wouldn't be able to move for a few minutes. Her head would feel like it's filled with lead, being thrown around. Her body felt like it weighed a ton, she couldn't move. Sometimes during the day her stomach would form knots, sometimes she would shiver uncontrollably. She almost always felt cold, even when it was warm and everyone would complain about the heat. Some days she wouldn't even be able to walk up- she would open her eyes just a crack, and they would close on their own accord. Sometimes she couldn't even move. Almost every day her had would have a dull thud at the back; a numbing pain. She couldn't classify it as a headache- she just figured everyone felt like that.
One thing was for sure though. She wasn't going to complain about herself; nor was she going to speak about it. To anyone, about anything, ever again. She was finished with people. Infinitely.