Coming up for Air
One day, I think I'd like to tell my parents the real reasons I don't come home.
When I go to my their house, I'd tell them, I feel bored. The best time I ever have there is watching a movie that I brought while my mother sits in her room, sleeping, drugging herself, watching the same movie as me but in the comfort of her own chair, or whatever it is she does in there. Certainly not using the [second] treadmill my dad bought for her. Meanwhile my Dad sits in the garage coming up with new projects outside so that he can appear productive while really he just wants to get drunk. If I'm lucky, Hannah will be awake and I can colour with her, or Mom and Dad won't even be home and I can let the dogs out of their kennels to play with them.
I'd tell them that I'm always hungry, because they've never once bothered to prepare dinner for us to eat together, and heaven forbid we go out to eat together. After all, it would be a shame if Mom had to eat somewhere that served vegetarian dishes. Salads and side dishes don't count, Mom. On a similar note, I would tell them how degraded I feel, and how depressed I get when I come home. I don't appreciate being guilt tripped when I mention that I'm hungry, and you're only response is, "Well, I ain't shelling out fifty bucks for another pizza!" As if that does anything to solve the problem, except maybe narrow my options. I'd tell them that it hurts my feelings when on my birthday I select an outfit specifically because I feel like it looks good, and you, mom, tell me I look "scuzzy".
I'd tell them that yes, I enjoy spending my weekends with Lizzy, but more accurately, I don't enjoy spending my weekends with them.
I'm dreading going home for Christmas, except to see my siblings, all of them, my niece and my dog.
When I go to my their house, I'd tell them, I feel bored. The best time I ever have there is watching a movie that I brought while my mother sits in her room, sleeping, drugging herself, watching the same movie as me but in the comfort of her own chair, or whatever it is she does in there. Certainly not using the [second] treadmill my dad bought for her. Meanwhile my Dad sits in the garage coming up with new projects outside so that he can appear productive while really he just wants to get drunk. If I'm lucky, Hannah will be awake and I can colour with her, or Mom and Dad won't even be home and I can let the dogs out of their kennels to play with them.
I'd tell them that I'm always hungry, because they've never once bothered to prepare dinner for us to eat together, and heaven forbid we go out to eat together. After all, it would be a shame if Mom had to eat somewhere that served vegetarian dishes. Salads and side dishes don't count, Mom. On a similar note, I would tell them how degraded I feel, and how depressed I get when I come home. I don't appreciate being guilt tripped when I mention that I'm hungry, and you're only response is, "Well, I ain't shelling out fifty bucks for another pizza!" As if that does anything to solve the problem, except maybe narrow my options. I'd tell them that it hurts my feelings when on my birthday I select an outfit specifically because I feel like it looks good, and you, mom, tell me I look "scuzzy".
I'd tell them that yes, I enjoy spending my weekends with Lizzy, but more accurately, I don't enjoy spending my weekends with them.
I'm dreading going home for Christmas, except to see my siblings, all of them, my niece and my dog.