Status: Uh, up and coming.
Not Your Fault
Come On, Come All; You're Just In Time To Witness My First Breakdown
Trigger warning. Advisory to read.
***
December 14, 2011
“TABITHA, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!” My mother screamed from outside my door.
I stood up from my desk, rubbing my eyes. It was close to midnight and I had been pounding in theory after formula for my college prep math class. The teacher didn’t seem to understand that we had a couple years and a sliver left until we had to be treated like college students.
I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I had done this time. Did I forget to take out the trash? Did she see my artwork lying around?
Mom thought my artwork was rubbish. Art won’t get you anywhere. Apparently, art is a waste of time. Time that could be used learning formulas for a math class that surely won’t help me anytime in the future.
How are triangles going to help me if I get mugged?
“Yo, yo, yo man! Give me your iPhone!”
“Stop right there! For not, good sir! For, I have the power of…triangles!” Pew pew, and triangles come out of my forehead.
I really needed to go to sleep.
“What?” I asked, exasperated.
“Your father wants to see you next weekend.” She muttered, rubbing her hands across her face, the wrinkles becoming more apparent.
My face softened as I took in her appearance. My mom angered me to a point of boiling, but she was my ma, after all. Her anger was understandable, too. Having to raise three kids while the bum of our father was locked up in jail would break you too.
When I was ten years old, I had asked my mom why she drank so much.
“The world is terrible, Tea. I hate it. When you grow up, I won’t blame you for wanting to drown yourself, either.”
“Mom! I don’t want to go to some jail cell for my first weekend of winter break!” I whined.
“He’s your father, Tabitha. Despite everything, he loves you.” She stated firmly.
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t quite get my head around the fact he still loves me after he busted my lip!” I yelled, my anger boiling.
“Do not speak of your father like that!”
“MOM! He hit you too, and you’re still defending him!? What the hell is wrong with you!?” I yelled, my nostrils flaring.
“HE WAS IN A BAD PLACE!”
“STOP FUCKING DEFENDING THE BASTARD! A BAD PLACE MY ARSE! HE’S THE REASON WHY I HAD TO WEAR CONCEALER ON MY CHIN AND LIE TO PEOPLE! EXCUSE ME FOR NOT BEING ON THE HIGH-HIP-AND HO WITH THE BASTARD.”
Have you ever had the sudden rush of despair when you figure out the person you love, betrays you?
I kind of have.
On December 14, 2011, my mother hit me for the first time.
I was fourteen.
***
I didn’t yell out in pain, I just stood placid, unmoving. I looked at my mom, who was shaking with rage.
“Clean your room, it smells.” She turned on her heel, and went straight to the kitchen.
Mikey came out of his room across the hall, when he heard my mom’s footsteps pitter away.
He crouched down, so he was eye-level with me. I was curled up with my head leaned up against the doorframe. My cheek burned from the slap still, at that point. “You shouldn’t of said anything.” He had an angry expression on his face.
“You need to shut up sometime, okay Tabitha?”
Mikey stood up slowly, shaking his head one last time, before going back into his room.
I need to shut up sometime.
I need to shut up sometime.
Was I really that difficult? My own brother even thought so. I deserved the slap. Hell, I deserve more than a little smack.
Standing up, I stumbled into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, did I only notice that I was crying.
Opening the medicine cabinet, I pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills.
Handful and I was gone, right? That’s how it went in the movies.
Pouring half a dozen into my hand, I stared at the glinting pills. They seemed so small, insignificant. Who knew a couple of them could end a family’s worries and pain?
I tried, I really did. I tried to swallow them.
I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.
I’m weak.
Crying harder, I slammed the pills back into the bottle. I brought the bottle to my room, and hid it underneath my mattress.
Maybe one day I wouldn’t be so weak.
**
I woke up the next morning with crust in my eyes. Yawning, I decided the best bet for the day was to go on like nothing happened.
My mom stayed home that day. She cooked eggs and bacon, and made my brothers stay out for the day. We watched soppy romance movies and painted our nails. My mom apologized profusely for the night before.
The stress got to her. She just didn’t understand why I was so angry, and she said she never would.
I smiled a little, in an attempt to make her feel better.
I was weak because I couldn’t stay mad.
***
December 14, 2011
“TABITHA, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!” My mother screamed from outside my door.
I stood up from my desk, rubbing my eyes. It was close to midnight and I had been pounding in theory after formula for my college prep math class. The teacher didn’t seem to understand that we had a couple years and a sliver left until we had to be treated like college students.
I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I had done this time. Did I forget to take out the trash? Did she see my artwork lying around?
Mom thought my artwork was rubbish. Art won’t get you anywhere. Apparently, art is a waste of time. Time that could be used learning formulas for a math class that surely won’t help me anytime in the future.
How are triangles going to help me if I get mugged?
“Yo, yo, yo man! Give me your iPhone!”
“Stop right there! For not, good sir! For, I have the power of…triangles!” Pew pew, and triangles come out of my forehead.
I really needed to go to sleep.
“What?” I asked, exasperated.
“Your father wants to see you next weekend.” She muttered, rubbing her hands across her face, the wrinkles becoming more apparent.
My face softened as I took in her appearance. My mom angered me to a point of boiling, but she was my ma, after all. Her anger was understandable, too. Having to raise three kids while the bum of our father was locked up in jail would break you too.
When I was ten years old, I had asked my mom why she drank so much.
“The world is terrible, Tea. I hate it. When you grow up, I won’t blame you for wanting to drown yourself, either.”
“Mom! I don’t want to go to some jail cell for my first weekend of winter break!” I whined.
“He’s your father, Tabitha. Despite everything, he loves you.” She stated firmly.
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t quite get my head around the fact he still loves me after he busted my lip!” I yelled, my anger boiling.
“Do not speak of your father like that!”
“MOM! He hit you too, and you’re still defending him!? What the hell is wrong with you!?” I yelled, my nostrils flaring.
“HE WAS IN A BAD PLACE!”
“STOP FUCKING DEFENDING THE BASTARD! A BAD PLACE MY ARSE! HE’S THE REASON WHY I HAD TO WEAR CONCEALER ON MY CHIN AND LIE TO PEOPLE! EXCUSE ME FOR NOT BEING ON THE HIGH-HIP-AND HO WITH THE BASTARD.”
Have you ever had the sudden rush of despair when you figure out the person you love, betrays you?
I kind of have.
On December 14, 2011, my mother hit me for the first time.
I was fourteen.
***
I didn’t yell out in pain, I just stood placid, unmoving. I looked at my mom, who was shaking with rage.
“Clean your room, it smells.” She turned on her heel, and went straight to the kitchen.
Mikey came out of his room across the hall, when he heard my mom’s footsteps pitter away.
He crouched down, so he was eye-level with me. I was curled up with my head leaned up against the doorframe. My cheek burned from the slap still, at that point. “You shouldn’t of said anything.” He had an angry expression on his face.
“You need to shut up sometime, okay Tabitha?”
Mikey stood up slowly, shaking his head one last time, before going back into his room.
I need to shut up sometime.
I need to shut up sometime.
Was I really that difficult? My own brother even thought so. I deserved the slap. Hell, I deserve more than a little smack.
Standing up, I stumbled into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, did I only notice that I was crying.
Opening the medicine cabinet, I pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills.
Handful and I was gone, right? That’s how it went in the movies.
Pouring half a dozen into my hand, I stared at the glinting pills. They seemed so small, insignificant. Who knew a couple of them could end a family’s worries and pain?
I tried, I really did. I tried to swallow them.
I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.
I’m weak.
Crying harder, I slammed the pills back into the bottle. I brought the bottle to my room, and hid it underneath my mattress.
Maybe one day I wouldn’t be so weak.
**
I woke up the next morning with crust in my eyes. Yawning, I decided the best bet for the day was to go on like nothing happened.
My mom stayed home that day. She cooked eggs and bacon, and made my brothers stay out for the day. We watched soppy romance movies and painted our nails. My mom apologized profusely for the night before.
The stress got to her. She just didn’t understand why I was so angry, and she said she never would.
I smiled a little, in an attempt to make her feel better.
I was weak because I couldn’t stay mad.
♠ ♠ ♠
SHORT CHAPTER, SORRY. Uhm, Danisnotonfire reference. Thanks Dan.I put a trigger warning, because I didn't know if it was too graphic or anything. Sorry, guys.
Just saying this story in retrospect is going to be really sad. THIS IS ALSO A WORK OF FICTION. Just saying, yet again.