All Good Things Come to a End
All The Same
I have been confined to these walls for months, years, waiting for the day when I can break free from everything that bounds me to this house. My speakers are currently screaming the latest Mayday Parade album, their words making every emotion that I can never express.
The blue walls soak up the sadness of nineteen years, a constant reminder that I was not what they wanted; a boy, a man to bring the family honor with trophies and titles. No they got me; a hundred and fifty pound, red hair, green eyed, awkward, ugly, fat girl. Nothing that the doctor and NFL player parents wanted, nothing that they would ever be proud of, hell my mother found the cure for brain tumors her third year out of medical school. My father broke pro records after records, season after season.
I knew I would never live up to their expectations even if they never expressed it in words. They didn’t have to; their actions spoke louder than their words ever could. A party at the house celebrating yet another win by father’s team, and where was I? In my room being a good little child and hiding my parent’s shame.
I honestly couldn’t wait until the day I could leave their house, but that day would never come I just knew it. I could never amount to anything in the real world. Hell my grades aren’t even good enough to get into community college says mother. I’ll just fade away in my room, until the day that the Grim Reaper comes knocking.
I wonder how death will feel, and is their really a place where nothing matters. It doesn’t matter how smart you are, how little you are, how socially awkward you are in the end. In the end we are all the same, aren’t we?
Mother’s voice breaks my thoughts, “Liz get ready for school, we are leaving in ten minutes.” I hate being called Liz; unlike most people with really long names I actually like Elizabeth. It makes me feel pretty and not the tom-boy my parents want me to be. Anything to get closer to their prefect child, yeah they could have another kid with technology they could make sure they had a boy, but mother’s career is booming and father has no time to “wipe some kids ass for five years again.”
Yup loving people are my parents.
Ten minutes to get ready for school is all I ever need, my shoulder length red hair just gets thrown into a messy pony tail, blue glasses hide my ugly green eyes, a pair of blue jeans that are a good two sizes to big get rid of the hideous legs, pure black tennis shoes that are falling apart at the seams and to complete the simple outfit a large plain black t-shirt. I see myself in the hallway mirror my face pinches up in disgust, no it’s not the clothes I have a problem with its what I can still see underneath them.
I can see the love handles on my hips, the gut that makes it look like I have a drinking problem, arms that have so much flab on them they move on their own accord. My face is what I have the most problems with, no clothes can hide the double chin, or the fat cheeks that make it look like I was a chipmunk hiding acorns for the winter. I work out three days a week, only eat when I’m about to pass out, and nothing but water some days. And nothing makes this go away.
Mother has offered to pay for surgery, and maybe I should take her up on the offer. Only I’m not ready to admit that they are right. That I will never be good enough on my own, that I will always need help to be better. I have to do this on my own. I just need someone to care I guess. “Liz, we are leaving. I have a meeting I cannot be late for. Get your fat ass in the car.”
With one final glace in the mirror and a sigh I make my way to the car, not before noticing my mother’s disapproving glare at my attire
The blue walls soak up the sadness of nineteen years, a constant reminder that I was not what they wanted; a boy, a man to bring the family honor with trophies and titles. No they got me; a hundred and fifty pound, red hair, green eyed, awkward, ugly, fat girl. Nothing that the doctor and NFL player parents wanted, nothing that they would ever be proud of, hell my mother found the cure for brain tumors her third year out of medical school. My father broke pro records after records, season after season.
I knew I would never live up to their expectations even if they never expressed it in words. They didn’t have to; their actions spoke louder than their words ever could. A party at the house celebrating yet another win by father’s team, and where was I? In my room being a good little child and hiding my parent’s shame.
I honestly couldn’t wait until the day I could leave their house, but that day would never come I just knew it. I could never amount to anything in the real world. Hell my grades aren’t even good enough to get into community college says mother. I’ll just fade away in my room, until the day that the Grim Reaper comes knocking.
I wonder how death will feel, and is their really a place where nothing matters. It doesn’t matter how smart you are, how little you are, how socially awkward you are in the end. In the end we are all the same, aren’t we?
Mother’s voice breaks my thoughts, “Liz get ready for school, we are leaving in ten minutes.” I hate being called Liz; unlike most people with really long names I actually like Elizabeth. It makes me feel pretty and not the tom-boy my parents want me to be. Anything to get closer to their prefect child, yeah they could have another kid with technology they could make sure they had a boy, but mother’s career is booming and father has no time to “wipe some kids ass for five years again.”
Yup loving people are my parents.
Ten minutes to get ready for school is all I ever need, my shoulder length red hair just gets thrown into a messy pony tail, blue glasses hide my ugly green eyes, a pair of blue jeans that are a good two sizes to big get rid of the hideous legs, pure black tennis shoes that are falling apart at the seams and to complete the simple outfit a large plain black t-shirt. I see myself in the hallway mirror my face pinches up in disgust, no it’s not the clothes I have a problem with its what I can still see underneath them.
I can see the love handles on my hips, the gut that makes it look like I have a drinking problem, arms that have so much flab on them they move on their own accord. My face is what I have the most problems with, no clothes can hide the double chin, or the fat cheeks that make it look like I was a chipmunk hiding acorns for the winter. I work out three days a week, only eat when I’m about to pass out, and nothing but water some days. And nothing makes this go away.
Mother has offered to pay for surgery, and maybe I should take her up on the offer. Only I’m not ready to admit that they are right. That I will never be good enough on my own, that I will always need help to be better. I have to do this on my own. I just need someone to care I guess. “Liz, we are leaving. I have a meeting I cannot be late for. Get your fat ass in the car.”
With one final glace in the mirror and a sigh I make my way to the car, not before noticing my mother’s disapproving glare at my attire