7 Years Earlier
My room is all I really needed in life. My chair, my bed, my closet, my drawers, my blankets, my carpet, my pictures, my paintings, everything, is was my own sanctuary. Everywhere else is so foreign to me, it's like a room, without purpose. A room without soul. The other rooms are like dead bodies to me. It's a body, it has it's assets, but there's no soul. It's just a blank.
My mom once threatened she'd take away my room, because she owned everything in this house. But, owning it meant nothing to me. I knew deep down that this is my room.
I'm ready to leave this prison. By prison I mean this house. My mother drives me insane. I hope to never become like her, yet I can already see me slowly morphing into a mirror image of who she is. But I try everything in my power to not turn out like her, just her is already enough; rather too much, even.
It's like she's a mystery to me. She hides so much about herself from me. She's never been good at hiding things, I of course figured out what she hides, but it's still weird. It's like living with a person who doesn't want you to know who they really are. Yet, I already see myself doing that. The only thing different, I'm good at hiding things.
"There's nothing to eat."
"I just went to the grocery store."
"That was last week, and you bought nothing."
"There's sandwiches, milk, cream cheese, bagels. Don't say there's nothing when clearly we have things."
I rolled my eyes. Maybe if you bought things like the other parents did, I wouldn't be complaining and you wouldn't have to have this conversation with me everyday.
"Sure" I said, wishing I could go on about what I said to myself.
She walked out of the kitchen with her regular sandwich with tuna. I remember when I was little she used to eat that all the time while I'd be on the couch asking her to fix me something. She'd ignore me and continued to watch her soap operas. I would start complaining and she'd get irritated and would tell me to go away and leave her alone. What great memories.
