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There's these days that go by within a blink of an eye. I wake and start my day like any-other person. I take care of myself, my family and at the end of the day; I go to bed. Then there's these nights where I'm heartbroken without any visible reason. My brain works in these odd ways, allowing me breaks but then it releases these memories.
I cannot turn to my Father, I cannot talk to my Mother. Sometimes I feel like running away but how long would I be? Would I ever return? Am I forever going to be wandering aimlessly after my parents? Why was I born to simply watch my parents dwindle away. I know none of their actions are my responsibility. But why am I not enough? I'm not enough to stop his drinking, I'm not enough to stop her drug use.
Fight, after fight. It does none of us any good. These words we exchange will never change anything. It's non-sense, gibberish. My words are not translating as if I were to be speaking a completely different language. I'm grown now, on my own; why can't I let go? All those years of wishing, wanting to be anywhere else but at home; why is it now I yearn for that loving feeling of home.
I cannot turn to my Father. I never have been able to. He was such a proud man once. He was a father that would do anything to see that sparkle in his daughter's eyes. He use to hold his head high with pride, now it's doing nothing but staring downward into an empty ember bottle. I cannot talk to my Mother. I never have been able to. She was such a loving woman, a warmth that any daughter yearned for. She use to laugh, smile without having to try. Now it's all about mistakes. Now it's all about how she regrets having her children; regrets living the life she has.
I get so lost. I feel like I would've been better on my own. If I had never known who my birth parents were. If I had been thrown into the system. I don't want to say that my parents have fucked me up; but they have. They began damaging me once I was born; neglecting the fact that this young child was going to be a person, a lover, a sister, a mother, a grandma...
I have never spent so much time on a losing battle. I try and I try but it shouldn't be me always trying. I'm sitting at home, wondering, hoping that they're safe but they're doing nothing but wasting away. Days go by and I wonder if today is going to be the day. The day that I receive a heart breaking call. We had so much time together. But it hasn't been enough. All the memories are darkened, tainted, ruined. The zoo trips, the Disneyland adventure, movie theaters, concerts, shopping. It all was great and has provided me with happy memories but returning home to waste away every night.
Peering out my bedroom door to watch abuse, to watch and hear yelling. Falling asleep scared. Falling asleep with that empty feeling of being abandoned. Why was it that mommy couldn't stay home all night? Why was it that she always had to leave once I shut my eyelids?
I'm twenty one.
My life is not that.
I am not that.
I've got a son, a boy that has changed my life in ways I cannot explain. Every cry, every whine, every kiss, every poop diaper, every mess, every laugh, every smile, every stumble. I'm there. I smile, I laugh, I cry. I refuse to be like my parents, to make him live the life that I once was stuck in. My childhood ended by the time I was two. How dare they.
My son will never live that life. He'll never be scared that mommy and daddy won't be home at night, he won't ever have to be worried that mommy and daddy are going to hurt themselves, drink themselves away, never come back. My entire life was abandonment. Was being left.
I was so young and I was walking myself to school, eating Top Ramen for all three courses, not knowing how to shower, to take care of myself. I was seven and remember being so use to the cops coming to get my parents that I just waved them off and went on my way to school. That is not how a child should be raised; the memories that have been left for me are not those that I cherish.
I was two when my mom left. She made a promise to me. That I'd see her again. Life was lonelier after that. She left me with a drunk, she left me with babysitter after babysitter. She left me to go to my first days of school; alone.
She came back. Once. She was a volunteer for a field trip to a pumpkin patch. She was wearing these black sweats and a black sweatshirt. Her air was held up in a ponytail. She was so pretty and I was so happy to have my mom there; but that was one day. A day that I remember like yesterday. You could imagine, I was only in Kindergarten. Would it be better if I just didn't have these memories? If perhaps I had no idea who they were.
How long will I be?
If I run away?