Running From You

II. Paralyzed

After that incident with my mother, I had left the house. I was unable to deal with the situation and how I was being treated. This has been the problem most of the time, been seen as the issue as if I didn't have a life on my own. Like I was brought to this world to satisfy someone else, like my own thoughts and priorities did not matter. The words I heard before storming out still stuck in my head. "Let her go, Susan. She won't change". I was walking around, literally just walking with music blasting through my headphones. Somehow, I was able to take walks without having panic attacks. I guessed it was because I was in control of the situation whenever I walked, I could decide where I went. Whenever I was on a bus or in a car, I didn't have that control, I was depended on the bus- or car driver. I sighed deeply, I knew I was at fault when it came to skipping classes and oversleeping. I knew I was messing it up but it's not fair to treat me as if I couldn't deal with stuff. I knew life went on, I knew time didn't pause itself because I didn't know how to mentally repair myself. But no one seemed to give me the time I needed, like my feelings weren't validated.

After walking around for an hour or so, my phone blew up. I got messages from my mom, my stepdad, my mother even enlightened my dad about the situation and he was calling me multiple times in a row. I groaned loudly when I picked up the seventh call from my dad. "What do you want?" I asked, annoyed. The bond I had with my father was beyond kindly. Most of the time, I got irritated and showed it. Who would blame me? Rhetorically speaking, because everyone blamed me.

There was a stupid conception about life that everyone followed; you got a month, maybe two to try to heal from something you went through and when that time passed? Your reaction was your own fault and you were to blame. No matter who or what was in front of you. Even if you were the victim and they were the convicted.

"What's going on between you and your mother? She just called me in all hysteria about you being a pain in the ass who won't listen and fucks everything up?" Dad said. I bit my lip as I felt a shot through my heart when he told me how my mother really thought about me.

"It's nothing, dad. I don't want to talk about it." I simply said.

"Something needs to change, Heaven. This can't go on any longer." Dad said in such a tone I knew he wouldn't be open to my side of the story. My father was the typical opinion guy, always had a thought on everything and unable to see it through a different perspective. He didn't know how many times I heard it before; I had to change or I had to move out. It was a threat my mother used to get what she wanted and she always achieved it. Well, for a couple of weeks before I was too drained again and had a breakdown.

"You don't understand, dad! And you never will!" I said in anger and disbelief before I pushed the red button on my phone and ended the call. I was past point of thinking my words through. I acted on anger, with my words or storming out. The only time my anger became physical was towards myself. But no matter how I acted on my anger, I always felt guilty afterwards. That's the power the so called 'home' had over me. Always doubting myself while trying to justify my pain to validate it. The threats were thrown in my face so many times before, it did not affect me at any kind. I knew the riddle, knew what it took and how to behave from that moment on.

That day, I chose to stay away from home as long as possible. Until it was dinner time, I couldn't miss it because it meant I had to walk our two dogs before we started the meal. If I was even so much as a minute late, I knew there would be another argument in the house and that was something I could not handle for another day. The threats, the arguments, there was so much only one person could take and it felt like I passed that moment a long time ago when I opened the front door to my house and walked in. It felt like a bag of sand pressed on my shoulders and my feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. The dogs started barking and I knew my mother and stepdad heard me coming in. I walked through the hall to enter the living room where my mother sat on the couch. "Is dinner ready?" I asked in fear when I didn't smell the scent of a meal being cooked. Was I too late?