Status: Active
Who I Am Hates Who I've Been
The Diary of Jane
I listened for the car door to slam shut, followed by the peeling of tires down the driveway. It was inevitable. There was no such thing as a pleasant farewell between my mother and her man of the week. I walked out of my room cautiously. She was sitting at the table, half-empty liquor bottles lined up for the pity party that she would inevitably throw herself. I rolled my eyes and walked to the fridge, wondering if she had made any effort at shopping any time recently.
“So, why did Joe leave this time?” I asked, retrieving a bottle of orange juice from the nearly empty refrigerator. She looked up at me with a dark look. She was not fond of my indifference towards her men. As far as I was concerned, it was Joe. It was a common enough name. Average Joe-Schmoe was about all my mother was good enough for. It would last a month at best and he would leave. She would throw herself a pity party, sulk around for a week or so, drunk off her ass, and then, she would get all done up and set out to find her next victim, so on and so forth. There is always an exception to the rule, and this exception was Michael. He was a pretty great guy. He actually cared about us, but that came to an abrupt end when after about four months, he asked my mother if she thought they had a future. He was sent packing, and not but a couple of days later, Joe showed up again. I just went about my shitty life as I always did, ignoring the various men that frequented our house.
“Well, for your information, he forgot to tell me that he was married,” she said pathetically. I rolled my eyes. She sure picked a winner that time.
“So, he was married and he left, after coming to the conclusion that cheating is very immoral and he was going to repent to God, hoping it isn’t too late to save his marriage with his beautiful wife and children,” I mocked, picking at her for a couple of men who have pulled that shit before.
“Well, I left him, if your nosy ass must absolutely know. I realized that if he would cheat on his wife, surely he would do the same to me, and it just wasn’t worth the shit,” she tried to dignify herself. I rolled my eyes and placed the juice back in its spot.
“Can’t wait to see the next winner,” I muttered as I turned to walk to my bedroom. I was stopped abruptly by my hair being jerked. She breathed in my ear with hatred.
“Be glad I put a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Be glad that you are still alive, you ungrateful little bitch, “she hissed. I grunted in pain as her hands gripped my hair tighter. “You would be lucky to make it through this year. Why don’t you get a fucking job? Why don’t you go find some pathetic loser who wants to be with your nasty skanky ass? Oh wait, no one wants to be with a fat ass cunt like you.” She threw me forward and my face collided with the corner of the wall. I felt a sharp sting that was instantly numbed by the warm flow of blood that poured from the freshly torn cut above my eye. I stumbled back a few steps and turned to look at her. The lifeless, hate-filled eyes locked on my own. “What are you going to do about it, you little bitch? You going to hit me back?” My veins pulsed at the thought of throwing her into a wall and beating her mercilessly. I straightened myself and cleared my throat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, bitch.”
“No, I won’t hit you because you just aren’t worth the jail time, nor the time it would take to clean up after I got through with you,” I growled at her. Her eyes widened and she slapped me.
“How dare you talk to me like that in my own home! Get out! Get the fuck out of my goddamn house now!” She screeched. I rolled my eyes and headed off to my room. I slammed the door shut, and began to pack my very few belongings. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Once upon a time, I would have been horrified to see the girl who looks back at me, but now, I realize that the girl who is looking back is who I have always been. I wiped the blood from the cut and put a couple of bandages over it, hoping it might heal on its own without stiches. I grabbed my bag and my purse and headed out of the room. She was sitting at the table, downing a bottle of Jack. I slung open the front door, but I couldn’t leave without saying one last thing.
“I hope you fucking die from alcohol poisoning.”
“So, why did Joe leave this time?” I asked, retrieving a bottle of orange juice from the nearly empty refrigerator. She looked up at me with a dark look. She was not fond of my indifference towards her men. As far as I was concerned, it was Joe. It was a common enough name. Average Joe-Schmoe was about all my mother was good enough for. It would last a month at best and he would leave. She would throw herself a pity party, sulk around for a week or so, drunk off her ass, and then, she would get all done up and set out to find her next victim, so on and so forth. There is always an exception to the rule, and this exception was Michael. He was a pretty great guy. He actually cared about us, but that came to an abrupt end when after about four months, he asked my mother if she thought they had a future. He was sent packing, and not but a couple of days later, Joe showed up again. I just went about my shitty life as I always did, ignoring the various men that frequented our house.
“Well, for your information, he forgot to tell me that he was married,” she said pathetically. I rolled my eyes. She sure picked a winner that time.
“So, he was married and he left, after coming to the conclusion that cheating is very immoral and he was going to repent to God, hoping it isn’t too late to save his marriage with his beautiful wife and children,” I mocked, picking at her for a couple of men who have pulled that shit before.
“Well, I left him, if your nosy ass must absolutely know. I realized that if he would cheat on his wife, surely he would do the same to me, and it just wasn’t worth the shit,” she tried to dignify herself. I rolled my eyes and placed the juice back in its spot.
“Can’t wait to see the next winner,” I muttered as I turned to walk to my bedroom. I was stopped abruptly by my hair being jerked. She breathed in my ear with hatred.
“Be glad I put a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Be glad that you are still alive, you ungrateful little bitch, “she hissed. I grunted in pain as her hands gripped my hair tighter. “You would be lucky to make it through this year. Why don’t you get a fucking job? Why don’t you go find some pathetic loser who wants to be with your nasty skanky ass? Oh wait, no one wants to be with a fat ass cunt like you.” She threw me forward and my face collided with the corner of the wall. I felt a sharp sting that was instantly numbed by the warm flow of blood that poured from the freshly torn cut above my eye. I stumbled back a few steps and turned to look at her. The lifeless, hate-filled eyes locked on my own. “What are you going to do about it, you little bitch? You going to hit me back?” My veins pulsed at the thought of throwing her into a wall and beating her mercilessly. I straightened myself and cleared my throat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, bitch.”
“No, I won’t hit you because you just aren’t worth the jail time, nor the time it would take to clean up after I got through with you,” I growled at her. Her eyes widened and she slapped me.
“How dare you talk to me like that in my own home! Get out! Get the fuck out of my goddamn house now!” She screeched. I rolled my eyes and headed off to my room. I slammed the door shut, and began to pack my very few belongings. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Once upon a time, I would have been horrified to see the girl who looks back at me, but now, I realize that the girl who is looking back is who I have always been. I wiped the blood from the cut and put a couple of bandages over it, hoping it might heal on its own without stiches. I grabbed my bag and my purse and headed out of the room. She was sitting at the table, downing a bottle of Jack. I slung open the front door, but I couldn’t leave without saying one last thing.
“I hope you fucking die from alcohol poisoning.”