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A Vent, if You Will

Moving out at 14 isn’t nearly as liberating as you’d think it, but it’s still better than being there.

One of my moms indirect Instagram posts, but I’ve found it’s both appropriate for me as well, as hilarious that she’s being this petty. 

I’m 14, and to my surprise, old enough to write on this website. Thankfully, of course but there’s nothing I feel like writing about more than this. I’ve just moved out of my moms house with my older sister, she’s 18 as of recently. We actually moved out the day before her birthday, and I feel terrible that it couldn’t have been as amazing as any one could hope their birthday to be. At least, happier than most days. 

Anyways, it was the day before her birthday, and she had been planning for a bit to move out, and I had also planned on going with her, but the plan was supposed to take place after she turned 18 and became an adult. The reason for the plan being that the situation at our moms house had been, but become more so, an unhealthily environment for us to be. Her and my stepdad would constantly argue over everything, and when they weren’t fighting it was terribly tense and passive aggressive. The door had been broken, and things had been thrown during their fights and it had simply become too much. 

Along with this all happening, our dad had recently bought a new house and we had gotten settled in, at this time having a fifty-fifty schedule with both homes. The day that everything actually occurred had been quite a good one being completely honest, as I had gone to the movies and a restaurant with my sister and our friend. After dropping him off, we proceeded home only to come home to our step dad in a strange mood, that seemed from what we could tell quite negative, and once again it became tense in the house. 

My mom had bought a pizza beforehand and we brought it inside, so while our parents were sorting through whatever they were, my sister and I decided to eat our portion of the pizza quickly, to get out of the dining room before any real fighting began. We sat there eating and laughing, until our stepdad came out only to tell us that our mom was upset but nothing more. So we sat there, confused and not quite sure if we were supposed to take action or just acknowledge it. Still unsure, we just presumed the pizza, eating until he came up to us a second time, this time, and for some reason not the first, to tell us that this pizza was not meant for us and that it was somebody else’s dinner entirely, but not specifying who’s. I assume he meant himself, even though he has diabetes and really shouldn’t be eating a whole pizza. We had in truth done him a favor by eating a bit of it.

He then proceeded to get very angry at us, even though we were not privy to this knowledge before a few seconds ago, and was aiming it more so at my sister. In response to this, my sister also became very irritable, for which I do not blame her, and told him that she was moving out, and now. She left the dining room table and I followed suit, as he I assume told my mom, as I did not see this, but she came out moments later. I immediately began packing, choosing what I felt I would need more in the long run, though I wish I had gotten more of my clothes. My mom and my sister were now going at it, yelling back and forth, as I received a text from my sister in a group chat, alerting my dads girlfriend that we needed to be picked up and soon. 

As this took place, I finished packing, and attempted to wait out the whole situation until she got there, but I then got a call from my dad, saying he was on his way, as he didn’t want his girlfriend to get too negatively involved. Soon after, my mom stopped yelling at my sister and walked down the hallway to my room, where she, quite similarly, began to yell at me. It started small, but soon she was crying and yelling, and exclaiming things such as, but not excluded to, "she’s the only person that has given a shit about me my whole life, my dad didn’t give a shit when I was growing up, and overall insulting me, my dad, and my sister." She then left, as I was decently unresponsive for someone so hurt, but once she was out the door I began to sob. These weren’t, or at least shouldn’t be the kinds of things that mothers tell their children ever, but alas, here I was. 

She then came back in my room, for what I can only describe as round two, saying similar things, but this time I was crying hard, as if that would be a reason for her to cease. This time though, I got a phone call during and thankfully she had the courtesy to let me take it. It was my dad saying that he was at the house and to get my sister, and head for the door. I got up, put my backpack strap over my shoulder and headed for the door, reaching for the knob. I was home free, I thought, but my mom followed and headed the same direction as me, beating me to the back door. That wasn’t the only issue though, because despite what my mom would tell you, I follow directions and I was told to get my sister, but she wasn’t there.

Part two soon, if anyone at all is reading this. I hope you are.