(no subject)
I love home renovation shows. I like the cheerfully violent demos and the ugly back splashes, the soft core assembly porn. My go-to is Rescue Renovation. Home owners see something scary - like a dark, speckled corner in their basement - and ignore it until the wall starts to rot and someone with a camera says the whole thing has to come out. Cue mournful soundtrack, cue tears, cut to somber contractor, zoom in on the moldy drywall/gnarled plumbing/sagging beam, cut to commercial.
Twenty-five minutes and three advertisements later, it’s pristine. Those repaired spaces look so neat and clean and right that you might think the decay never happened. That time and black mold never crawled by, and glassy eyes never slid over it hoping for the best, knowing it would only get worse.
I want to live in those spaces.
*
My brother relapsed three days ago. Was fired four days ago. Was arrested and let out on bail four months ago.
My parents stopped talking three weeks ago. My mom stopped leaving the house two years ago.
My mom left two weeks ago.
My dad kicked my brother out an hour ago.
I had an anxiety attack 40 minutes ago.
*
When I wake up in the morning there’s not enough space in my chest.
*
I dread the ride to campus every day. I ask my dad how he slept, how his knee is, does he have a lodge meeting that night? Anything to keep him from talking about my brother, or mom. What awful thing he did this time, what thing she didn't say this time. He's a thief and she's a wall.
It takes fifteen minutes to get to the S building and I eat those minutes with knives in my stomach.
You can sit in a truck with a good person who loves you, whom you love back, and pray to god they don’t say anything.
*
“Developing the ability to piss other people off (or even to RISK pissing them off) without knuckling under is pretty much the Holy Grail of emotionally abused kids, I think. We are programmed to respond at the first sign of displeasure… We freak out about the possibility that we’re wrong…that we’ll make someone angry, because there’s this awful certainty lurking at the back of our minds that says “If you do the wrong thing, you will be in TROUBLE.” And being in TROUBLE is the worst thing, ever, because that part of our brain is forever three years old where our parents are our whole world and being in TROUBLE is the end of everything.”
- PomperaFirpa @Captain Awkward (via ladysaviours)
*
Don't get angry.
*
There’s an apartment in Seattle. I don’t know where in Seattle only that it’s there. It’s small. It’s not new, but it’s clean. People have left things behind, their scuff marks, water stains and weird smells. That’s fine. It’s my weird art on the walls, my books on the shelf, my best friend in the other bedroom, our laundry in the basket, making new safe spaces.
I wake up in the morning, terrified and picture the curtains.
*
The problem isn't that I can't see it all from their point of view - hers, dad's and my brother's - the problem is that there isn't enough room. There is no more fucking room. I'm out of space. There isn't even room to breathe most of the time.
*
I'm not sure I know what a safe space feels like anymore.
Twenty-five minutes and three advertisements later, it’s pristine. Those repaired spaces look so neat and clean and right that you might think the decay never happened. That time and black mold never crawled by, and glassy eyes never slid over it hoping for the best, knowing it would only get worse.
I want to live in those spaces.
*
My brother relapsed three days ago. Was fired four days ago. Was arrested and let out on bail four months ago.
My parents stopped talking three weeks ago. My mom stopped leaving the house two years ago.
My mom left two weeks ago.
My dad kicked my brother out an hour ago.
I had an anxiety attack 40 minutes ago.
*
When I wake up in the morning there’s not enough space in my chest.
*
I dread the ride to campus every day. I ask my dad how he slept, how his knee is, does he have a lodge meeting that night? Anything to keep him from talking about my brother, or mom. What awful thing he did this time, what thing she didn't say this time. He's a thief and she's a wall.
It takes fifteen minutes to get to the S building and I eat those minutes with knives in my stomach.
You can sit in a truck with a good person who loves you, whom you love back, and pray to god they don’t say anything.
*
“Developing the ability to piss other people off (or even to RISK pissing them off) without knuckling under is pretty much the Holy Grail of emotionally abused kids, I think. We are programmed to respond at the first sign of displeasure… We freak out about the possibility that we’re wrong…that we’ll make someone angry, because there’s this awful certainty lurking at the back of our minds that says “If you do the wrong thing, you will be in TROUBLE.” And being in TROUBLE is the worst thing, ever, because that part of our brain is forever three years old where our parents are our whole world and being in TROUBLE is the end of everything.”
- PomperaFirpa @Captain Awkward (via ladysaviours)
*
Don't get angry.
*
There’s an apartment in Seattle. I don’t know where in Seattle only that it’s there. It’s small. It’s not new, but it’s clean. People have left things behind, their scuff marks, water stains and weird smells. That’s fine. It’s my weird art on the walls, my books on the shelf, my best friend in the other bedroom, our laundry in the basket, making new safe spaces.
I wake up in the morning, terrified and picture the curtains.
*
The problem isn't that I can't see it all from their point of view - hers, dad's and my brother's - the problem is that there isn't enough room. There is no more fucking room. I'm out of space. There isn't even room to breathe most of the time.
*
I'm not sure I know what a safe space feels like anymore.