via laugh-addict
I was helping my little brother
Where the fuck does jack come from
(Source: kimburrit0, via orgasmic-humor)
Whenever I’m on Tumblr, and my parents walk into my room, I shut that shit down like I’m about to get caught watching porn or something. And then when they leave I’m sitting there for like 10 minutes scared to open it again like
— Mark Twain
Was that piece of grass always there? Since when is my house that color? Is my front door crooked? My front door, my finish line. But until I was there, I searched for anything to keep from meeting the yellow, vein crossed eyes I felt tracing my steps, a sniper lining up his shot. My feet doubled their pace, and as I struggled to get my key out of the lock, the door knob jerked, sinking into my hip and it took every bit of my being not to vocalize the pain I felt. Nothing to show weakness, or fear, or hurt; not anymore. But the throbs, pulsing all the way up to my ribcage now, were a phone ringing from a catalytic past.
February 23, 2011 began as a night indifferent to me, but foreign to others. A stressful day at school blurred in my mind as my father, drunken off a mixture of alcohol and hate, deafened my ears with slurred insults. I was the reason he didn’t have money. He was going to lose his job because of me, his straight ‘A’ daughter who barely had a role in his life. Somehow, it was my entire fault. Logic told me I should be bawling, but this endless routine left no tears. I let out a mere croak, and he screamed at me for making too much noise. Score: one-zero. I tried to back away. Score: two-zero. I made eye contact. Score: three-zero, four-zero, five-zero. My own rationality numbed as my swollen cheek became harder to ignore. This was nothing new. I closed my eyes and waited for the sun to rise, symbolizing the restart of this cycle. Maybe it was my chest pounding a little harder, a little faster than usual. Maybe it was the indifference I felt, but something was distinguishable about this night. Next, I was clawing at paper thin walls, at wobbly chairs, at my own frail mother as I was being dragged out of an artificial sanctuary, and thrown onto my front yard. The glaciated grass engulfed me, and the darkness seemed to shout at me.
“If you has such a big, big, big problem with the way I done things then you, you can good and well leave, you no good piece of trash!”
It was not so much him saying these words that caused me to do what I did next, but the omniscient rifle he held that seemed to follow my gaze, keeping eye contact. Normally, I would beg to go back inside as I apologized for all the things I never did. But that cursed logic swirled in my mind. Leave. Go. You’re better off on your own. Do you see the way you’re treated? Run, fast. Rebel. Here, let me help you. Here goes one leg, now the other. Left, right, left right. I was in foreign territory with every step I took. I stumbled through my own subconscious as I stumbled out onto the shadowy asphalt. Numbness gripped my mind as I lost sense of my limbs. You haven’t lost your home. You never had a home in the first place, not in the truest sense. What grip of reality I had left was scared away by two headlights shining right through me, broken by the outline of that blasted gun screaming at me.
“Run! Leave! Get out of my sight! No one wants you here! No one loves you!”
The gunshots resonated with truth. He’s right, you know. You’re better off dead.
A knife swam in a pool of blood as the moonlight played tricks on my eyes, trying to tell me there were people all around me, people who cared. I lay on my back and caught glimpses of a starry night through creeping tree limbs, reaching down on me trying to move me, prodding me with latex fingers, and whispering another language in falsely urgent tones. I was blanketed by a vision of my future and my past, without shadows striking at me again and again.
I awoke in a pearly white room, entangled in colored chains and surrounded by a chorus of beeping machines. A rush of serenity covered me for a reason unknown. I was in a state worse than before, and covered with battle wounds. I knew not one tear was shed for my suffering, but my suffering had made me stronger. Fear was what got me here, but fear had left me with the feeling of confidence for the day I walked back into my nightmarish routine. I thought that escaping would be my rebellion, but now I knew that my very existence within this cycle was what gave me power. The strength to survive was what I had needed, and with it, I could survive this orbit for as long as necessary.
