skip the charades

So you’re well aware of my aversion of attending that barbeque lunch from hell thing last Sunday. Prior to this day mum had gone above and beyond to be kind to me, acting like it once was, all rainbows and unicorns and such. But, alas it was all a foolish charade!

Surprise, surprise!

She was only being charitable to me because she wanted, no needed me to attend this pointless luncheon. To keep up the appearance of some strong united front and this farce of happy families. All so further from the actual truths.

We’re as broken and damaged as they come.

But, oh my, the world mustn’t know this.

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Image via Tumblr

But the world does know. He hears her frugal screams through those walls as fine as parchment. Screams belittling us all with words as sharp as broken glass.

Her true colours came back with a vengeance yesterday with her pistol poised directly at me as I stepped foot in her house. Picking at my whereabouts and supposed lack of direction in life. When that tirade was over it was screams about dog fur laying about on her not so pristine, dated nineties white tiles, as if the occasional ball of fluff was the very bane of her existence.

Following that wave came round two all over the way I prefer to slump myself on the couch. According to her I need to sit like ‘other people’, who apparently seat themselves properly not with legs splayed up on cushions. I honestly could not care less, I will sit how the f*** I want to sit regardless of ‘other people’. And who exactly are these ‘other people’ she loves oh so much to bring up during her oh too frequent rants?  According to her ‘other people’ sit on coaches and chairs ‘straight’. These ‘other people’ are always married, they have lots of attractive and physically ‘perfect’ friends. ‘Other people’ have jobs, they go to work Monday to Friday, 9-5 and work overtime and they have their own places. God forbid, soon these ‘other people’ will start having babies too then we’ll be doomed.

From what I can gather ‘other people’ are some very strange beings, living in what appears to be some ideal, conformist world. Almost like a fragment of imagination, some view of someone’s ideal way of living.

Strange indeed and definitely not for me.

She also mentions it is time to cut the internet now because who even uses it. She can’t comprehend why she’s paying for it now. Never mind that I use it, no, sorry she must have forgotten that yes I still reside here. I’ll just have to add this to another household luxury I am no longer casually allowed to use now that the golden child has moved out. Add that to the overgrown and quite frankly, embarrassing list that I feel contradicts my Western Human Rights. Ok, maybe that’s an extreme analogy but stick with me here.

So I am no longer at liberty to:

  • Use the internet
  • Keep my MacBook in my bedroom
  • Turn on and use the lights in my bedroom at night
  • Read any form of literary material
  • Have parcels or mail delivered to their door
  • Shop online
  • Have anything laying about on my bedroom floor – regardless if it does not fit in my closet or is just boxed away in a corner
  • Bring my puppy dog inside the house.

Oh and I forgot, they still insist upon me now paying board.

Whatever.

I will not feed her craziness and retaliate as she so desperately wants me to. I am bigger than that and I know what needs to be fought for and what will only serve to further induce an aneurism. I will continue to just live and survive in this brutal and unhealthy environment. Be forgotten and somewhat isolated and let them pick away at me until that glorious day comes and I bid them a sayonara for good.

It sounds so stupid. Like some obnoxious teenage daughter fighting with her mother who’s at her whits end. But we’re not; I am in my twenties! This is not acceptable behavior and sadly it will never end. Even if I ever manage to get away from this place, move far away across the seas there would still be cause for friction. It’s just part of her nature, how she was raised and now too deeply ingrained into her DNA for any kind of salvation.

I know I have played my part, perhaps skewed her to seeing me as some demon child brought her to destroy her mentally or some shit. I had done things years ago that I am not proud of rendering away what little trust in me she once held but when does it get to a point of enough, is enough. When you just let go of pointless grudges and silence. You always saw this fickle side to her Maria. You always stood up for me, even when you were so sick, battling a heartless cancer while Alzheimer’s took you away from us, this was always something you held onto so dearly. Protecting me from what you interpreted as wrong, feelings with such intensity and fervor that managed to remain fastened to your brain, regardless of a dementia washing everything else away. This always remained. Right until your last breaths.

I miss that you aren’t here, to be that voice of reason between us both, reminding her to cut the crap. The bringer of miraculous peace between our hot headed minds. So I guess I am at it alone, to suffer in silence and somehow manage to keep my cool, guns drawn but filled with blanks.

Love,

xxx

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