Not So Good

Moving

Moving. And no, not anywhere drastic, like New York or Las Vegas. I'm not going anywhere with any abundance of opportunity for a young thing like me. I'm moving into my grandma's house. She has a double wide on the opposite side of town. I was wanted out of sight, just not enough I guess.

I was recently put into therapy, not physical. I managed to convince my therapist, who in turn convinced my mom that all I need was some space, I'll come around. And just like that, the truck is loaded with all three of my bags, a single sized bed, and a dresser my grandma assures me that we'll throw out. This move will be the start of the rest of my life, my mom just isn't sure that it's the life she wants for me.

We travel in silence to my grandmas house, save for a few of my moms sniffles. I don't feel bad, there is no guilt or resentment or anything along those lines. I do believe that she is undeserving of the things I put her through. But as a teen my impulse control may not be what she thinks it is, like for example, existent. I also don't think this is how we should be spending our Christmas Eve, I just wanted to get out as soon as possible.

My room has white walls, my room has a brown and somewhat stained carpet, my room has two windows and a closet that just might be too big. My room, mine. I don't care that the walls are white and chipping or that those stains on the carpet are big. I don't care that the wood to one of the windows seems to be rotting and that closet may actually not be big enough (I notice later when I start hanging my clothes up). I don't care because it belongs to me as much as anything ever has or will, probably. As far as I'm concerned, its perfect.

As soon as everything is set up, my stepdad takes my sniffling mother home without a word to me. I'm not surprised, the opposite actually. I'm more upset at her assumption, I'm mad that she hasn't stopped to think about the real reason I wanted to move out. She's like a teenager, her boyfriend just dumped her and now she's telling everyone that its because he thinks she's ugly.
She thinks she pushed me away, that she was terrible enough to me that I had to move out. Even though I've specified to her millions of times that it was not her fault. I love my mom, I do, just not her kids.

She stays on my mind for the duration of the time it takes me to unpack. So maybe I do feel a little bad. Not for my actions but because of the way they made her feel. If I told her that she would've scoffed at me, laughed in my face, probably would've even told me that she liked me better than her oldest daughter (me).

I pushed my bed from its position in the middle of the room to the corner by the closet, where I wanted it originally. Shoving it against the wall gave me more floor space. So I took advantage of it with a game of Sudoku. And that's where I spent the majority of my night, sprawled out on the floor with a deck of cards.
It wasn't until around one that I finished my last game, it took me about three minutes to set it up and take it back down in a win. Guess that's what I get for not having anyone to talk to, really good at single-player card games. Can't say I'm complaining too much though. I've had just about enough of people at this point anyways, they're all stuffed full of their own crap and its a miracle some of them haven't spontaneously combusted but that's just my opinion.

Then again, that's probably what most people tell themselves when they're lonely.
1:37AM. Merry Christmas to me.

9:08 AM is when my bedroom door is opened. They came over to celebrate Christmas morning with us. My mom and my aunt pulling their families through the front door, all ten of them sitting in the living room awaiting my arrival.

Christmas gifts are opened and the wrappings thrown out, thanks are said. The kids collectively roll their eyes when the answer to their question is 'Santa got it for you, it says right there.' Like these children believe that anymore. Even the youngest, being eight, tell them that they're too old to believe in Santa anymore. A small knot forms in my throat.

Then Christmas is over. Only two hours after it began, and once again they begin filing out. Hugs and kisses are tossed around, most avoid me but its not something I'm not used to. I try not to think too much of it but I know that it was a group effort this time by the looks that are passing me. The small one barely mutters a bye as she skids past me to the door.

My grandma offers me breakfast, I decline and go back to my room. I spend most of the day laying in bed, save for my much needed trips to the bathroom. I don't know what I did, just that I did it alone. She came in occasionally to offer food, even brought me a glass of orange juice after I told her I didn't want any.
But I guess it was enough, to know that after I pushed and pushed that I didn't want any, she still brought me a plate of quesadillas and a refill of orange juice.

That night I cried myself to sleep and again when I woke up at one and at three and at four and again at six. We had breakfast at nine thirty, I only said no twice.

Living with my grandma will have its ups and downs, just like everything else. But the darkside of this situation still outshines that of the one at my moms house. I still need to be over there daily, per the agreement with my therapist, which seemed slightly pointless to me. My grandma said she was excited to have me here because she was tired of being alone during the day, with her husband working almost non-stop, but I'm never going to be here either.

Thankfully, I've decided to take the day off. They might call me later on to ask me where I'm at, like the concerned family they are, and tell me that I need to be over there but I don't know if I'll survive it. I spent the better part of sixteen years in that house, with that cluster of people and now that I've moved out I'm taking my much needed breath. Suffocating has never been ideal to me.

I got homeschooled in November so attendance isn't something I need to worry about. School isn't something that I ever worry about anyways, I've never really needed to. I have let my grades slip a time or two, or ten but there was never a fear of failing. Not for me at least, my mom was terrified everytime my grades hit the D range. Maybe that's why I did it.

Still, I'm only half way through my senior year and have schoolwork that needs to be done. Which is only available at my moms house, she has expressed thoroughly that she doesn't want me going anywhere else. As if having to use Marcie's laptop constantly hasn't caused enough problems between us already, as if I haven't caused enough problems with Marcie.

I'll go over tomorrow and blame it on the snow today. We barely had a white Christmas this year, the snow having just made its way into town that morning. Doesn't mean it hasn't been absolutely freezing since October, it has been raining heavily since then and I guess that makes up for the lack of snow this winter. I prefer the rain anyways.

Today my grandma wants to spend her time watching movies, bad ones might I add, but she likes them so I suffer through silently. Like I do most things. My phone vibrates occasionally throughout the day, like it did yesterday after I received a Merry Christmas from Simon. That message was the first in a while, not only from him but not discluding him.
We hadn't talked in a few weeks, though I'm sure that he still views himself as a close friend of mine. 'Childhood Besties' he brags whenever anyone asks even though we didn't actually speak to each other until the ages of thirteen. Still, I guess if he wants to play it that way, who am I to say otherwise?

Our conversations never really held much other than what we were doing, how we were doing and anything else I could think of to contribute. Honestly, he is so boring. I used to think it was just me and my tendency to constantly need something new. He wasn't it and I wouldn't let that put a damper on the friendship he wanted.
If he wanted someone to talk to, and he wanted me to be that someone, then I'm honored. As I would be if it was anyone else seeking companionship in me. I might not be the best person to talk to all the time but I definitely have a lot to say.

Maybe that's why I'm so quiet most of the time. Living in a house full of people that don't care too much for my opinion when I have so many of them is sort of draining, emotionally. In situations like that, silence is best. Learning to not talk, to hold my tongue, life is easier that way.

A/n:
Let me know if I should continue