Are you leaving home?, chapter 1
*MY P.O.V.*
Today is the day.
27th September 2006
The day I have been waiting to happen for months... but I'm scared.
***
You know that feeling when you have just woken up and for a split second you forget everything that's happened before? That's the feeling I long to have forever, to be happy and not to count the minutes until I can go to sleep and wait for that split second again, the one I live for.
I often ask myself stupid questions, the ones that can't be answered. The ones that give you a headache until you forget what you asked yourself in the first place. I was fine with these questions at first; in fact they kept me busy for a while. Things like, "How did the earth begin?" And "What happens when people die?" But then I started to go deeper, trying to discover things about me and my life, like "Why does everything bad happens to me?" And "What's the point in life? I'm only going to go and die." This sounds like one of the most depressing thoughts, but it gave me the motivation to do something with the life I have.
Nothing lasts forever. Maybe there is no such thing as forever, who knows? But what I do know is that I'm not going to let myself carry on like this. When people tell me to get a life I ignore them, but they are right. I don't have a life, I have an existence. I sleep, I eat, and then I sleep again. It was time for this cycle to be broken.
I began to plan this day soon after I had this thought but at first it was just a fantasy, something I dreamed of when I was feeling down, but the more I thought about it the more I realised that my dream could become a reality.
***
My Mum had always been there to annoy me. It was like that was her only purpose in life. It's just that I had never noticed when I was younger, like when she said it was my fault I believed her because I didn't know any better. And when I started standing up for myself it got worse. Mum was the adult and I was the poor little kid. I didn't stand a chance.
Sure enough, when I dragged myself out of the bed there was the usual noise from downstairs. She was already up. Shit. I went in the shower and then got dressed however, for a change I was in a reasonably good mood and was actually even debating with myself whether or not I should go ahead with my plan, but as I opened the bathroom door I realised why I had developed it in the first place. My mum was standing right outside the door ready to take a mental screenshot of my face when I saw her.
"What time do you call this...hmmm?"
This was mums great attempt at trying to be nice to me. It wasn't what she said it was the way she said it and how she treated me. She spoke to me like I was about 5 years old. Just looking at her face my anger built up as I remembered what had happened the night before. My mum spends all of her time either being drunk or beating me up and the rest of the time trying to make it up to me. I don't know why I have put up with it for all this time. I walked passed her into my room and then lay on my bed and slightly pulled up my t-shirt. The bruises had already come out and it looked awful. I should be used to this by now. I tried to ignore them when I was in the shower as I wanted to forget but today is the day when I needed to remember, because if I don't remember I am always too soft, a pushover, but that's how she liked it. She liked being able to tell me what to do and she loved me obeying her every command because I was so scared of what she'd do next.
I remembered passing out last night but nothing more. I couldn't remember what had happened though. All I knew was that she was a violent woman, even when she wasn't drunk in fact. The way she twists your words and always gets what she wants from me, whether its me, money or just the pure satisfaction of watching me scream whilst she kicks me to the floor.
I plugged my stereo in and put 'nimrod' in the CD drawer, but before I could press play, I realised my mother had followed me into my room and was standing behind me.
"You're not going to listen to that silly pop group again are you? I really don't think it's good for you"
Here we go again with the same weak argument and the patronizing tone of voice. She knew that picking on my music would get at me.
"It's not pop music," I replied, trying to keep calm. "It's punk rock."
Answering back? Never a good move.
"Oh, is that what you kids call it nowadays."
She paused, trying to think of what would really wind me up without actually having a go at me. This was her new method
"Are you really going to go out like that, darling? I think you're really letting yourself down, you're such a pretty thing."
She then saw the bruises on my side.
"Oh. My Baby! What have I done?"
She didn't really care she just wanted to keep me as her daughter, and for me to treat her like my mother. She wanted me to believe that it was the drink that was doing it, so that I wouldn't worry and she could keep doing it again, and again, and again. But I wasn't that stupid... well maybe I was. I kept letting her get away with it. She went to kiss my bruises but really I think she just wanted to see what a mess she'd made so she could improve on it later. I pushed her away and she went.
I put my CD on and resumed to lying on my bed and thinking again. I looked round my room, trying to be sentimental but there was nothing in here that was in any way sentimental to me. Just lots of expensive gifts my Mum uses to try and bribe me. A video recorder, a DVD player, a TV with cable, a CD player, the list goes on. Hundreds of items of clothing that I would never dream of wearing, books I'll never read. When I think of what this is in aid of... it makes me sick.
It was almost time to go for my work experience as a teacher, but today wasn't any ordinary day. I got my bag and put inside it my iPod, my make up and clothes and all the money I had. I wasn't sure I would need it all for a trip to London but I wanted to be safe. Safe. Today I would become safe.
I walked to the front door but the soft side of my personality resurfaced. What was I doing? I thought to myself. My Mum was crazy and she needed stopping, but I still loved her, she was my Mum. Finally, I compromised and I walked back into the house. I ran up to her and gave her a hug.
"I love you Mum."
I whispered, in case someone was watching me and was waiting to tell me how much of a pushover I was.
"I'm sorry," she replied.
This was a word she used whenever she wasn't sure what to say so I know she didn't mean it, but I'm guessing I took her by surprise. I wanted her to see that I wasn't all bad.
I walked out of the house and up the road to catch the coach. Stupid me thought that people might actually care. A bunch of children aged 5-10 weren't going to judge me. That's what all this was. A trip to London with a bunch of school kids, but I was away and this was the start of my new life. The coach arrived and from the minute I stepped on I knew I wasn't going to make a friend or even be respected by anyone on this coach.
Everything went deadly silent when I got on and I found a seat. Two girls in front of me started staring at me. I felt like a freak. Even a load of kids couldn't make me feel better about myself, no one cared. I looked out of the window and tried to ignore them. I turned my iPod on to Jesus of Suburbia and when it got to the last line I realised that I hadn't made a big decision to get on the coach, the big decision was to get off. I realised my plan was in action. My dream. I looked around and everything changed. My attitude towards everyone here changed. I had made my decision. When I got off this coach in London I wasn't getting back on. I was going to start a new life.
I'm leaving home.
Today is the day.
27th September 2006
The day I have been waiting to happen for months... but I'm scared.
***
You know that feeling when you have just woken up and for a split second you forget everything that's happened before? That's the feeling I long to have forever, to be happy and not to count the minutes until I can go to sleep and wait for that split second again, the one I live for.
I often ask myself stupid questions, the ones that can't be answered. The ones that give you a headache until you forget what you asked yourself in the first place. I was fine with these questions at first; in fact they kept me busy for a while. Things like, "How did the earth begin?" And "What happens when people die?" But then I started to go deeper, trying to discover things about me and my life, like "Why does everything bad happens to me?" And "What's the point in life? I'm only going to go and die." This sounds like one of the most depressing thoughts, but it gave me the motivation to do something with the life I have.
Nothing lasts forever. Maybe there is no such thing as forever, who knows? But what I do know is that I'm not going to let myself carry on like this. When people tell me to get a life I ignore them, but they are right. I don't have a life, I have an existence. I sleep, I eat, and then I sleep again. It was time for this cycle to be broken.
I began to plan this day soon after I had this thought but at first it was just a fantasy, something I dreamed of when I was feeling down, but the more I thought about it the more I realised that my dream could become a reality.
***
My Mum had always been there to annoy me. It was like that was her only purpose in life. It's just that I had never noticed when I was younger, like when she said it was my fault I believed her because I didn't know any better. And when I started standing up for myself it got worse. Mum was the adult and I was the poor little kid. I didn't stand a chance.
Sure enough, when I dragged myself out of the bed there was the usual noise from downstairs. She was already up. Shit. I went in the shower and then got dressed however, for a change I was in a reasonably good mood and was actually even debating with myself whether or not I should go ahead with my plan, but as I opened the bathroom door I realised why I had developed it in the first place. My mum was standing right outside the door ready to take a mental screenshot of my face when I saw her.
"What time do you call this...hmmm?"
This was mums great attempt at trying to be nice to me. It wasn't what she said it was the way she said it and how she treated me. She spoke to me like I was about 5 years old. Just looking at her face my anger built up as I remembered what had happened the night before. My mum spends all of her time either being drunk or beating me up and the rest of the time trying to make it up to me. I don't know why I have put up with it for all this time. I walked passed her into my room and then lay on my bed and slightly pulled up my t-shirt. The bruises had already come out and it looked awful. I should be used to this by now. I tried to ignore them when I was in the shower as I wanted to forget but today is the day when I needed to remember, because if I don't remember I am always too soft, a pushover, but that's how she liked it. She liked being able to tell me what to do and she loved me obeying her every command because I was so scared of what she'd do next.
I remembered passing out last night but nothing more. I couldn't remember what had happened though. All I knew was that she was a violent woman, even when she wasn't drunk in fact. The way she twists your words and always gets what she wants from me, whether its me, money or just the pure satisfaction of watching me scream whilst she kicks me to the floor.
I plugged my stereo in and put 'nimrod' in the CD drawer, but before I could press play, I realised my mother had followed me into my room and was standing behind me.
"You're not going to listen to that silly pop group again are you? I really don't think it's good for you"
Here we go again with the same weak argument and the patronizing tone of voice. She knew that picking on my music would get at me.
"It's not pop music," I replied, trying to keep calm. "It's punk rock."
Answering back? Never a good move.
"Oh, is that what you kids call it nowadays."
She paused, trying to think of what would really wind me up without actually having a go at me. This was her new method
"Are you really going to go out like that, darling? I think you're really letting yourself down, you're such a pretty thing."
She then saw the bruises on my side.
"Oh. My Baby! What have I done?"
She didn't really care she just wanted to keep me as her daughter, and for me to treat her like my mother. She wanted me to believe that it was the drink that was doing it, so that I wouldn't worry and she could keep doing it again, and again, and again. But I wasn't that stupid... well maybe I was. I kept letting her get away with it. She went to kiss my bruises but really I think she just wanted to see what a mess she'd made so she could improve on it later. I pushed her away and she went.
I put my CD on and resumed to lying on my bed and thinking again. I looked round my room, trying to be sentimental but there was nothing in here that was in any way sentimental to me. Just lots of expensive gifts my Mum uses to try and bribe me. A video recorder, a DVD player, a TV with cable, a CD player, the list goes on. Hundreds of items of clothing that I would never dream of wearing, books I'll never read. When I think of what this is in aid of... it makes me sick.
It was almost time to go for my work experience as a teacher, but today wasn't any ordinary day. I got my bag and put inside it my iPod, my make up and clothes and all the money I had. I wasn't sure I would need it all for a trip to London but I wanted to be safe. Safe. Today I would become safe.
I walked to the front door but the soft side of my personality resurfaced. What was I doing? I thought to myself. My Mum was crazy and she needed stopping, but I still loved her, she was my Mum. Finally, I compromised and I walked back into the house. I ran up to her and gave her a hug.
"I love you Mum."
I whispered, in case someone was watching me and was waiting to tell me how much of a pushover I was.
"I'm sorry," she replied.
This was a word she used whenever she wasn't sure what to say so I know she didn't mean it, but I'm guessing I took her by surprise. I wanted her to see that I wasn't all bad.
I walked out of the house and up the road to catch the coach. Stupid me thought that people might actually care. A bunch of children aged 5-10 weren't going to judge me. That's what all this was. A trip to London with a bunch of school kids, but I was away and this was the start of my new life. The coach arrived and from the minute I stepped on I knew I wasn't going to make a friend or even be respected by anyone on this coach.
Everything went deadly silent when I got on and I found a seat. Two girls in front of me started staring at me. I felt like a freak. Even a load of kids couldn't make me feel better about myself, no one cared. I looked out of the window and tried to ignore them. I turned my iPod on to Jesus of Suburbia and when it got to the last line I realised that I hadn't made a big decision to get on the coach, the big decision was to get off. I realised my plan was in action. My dream. I looked around and everything changed. My attitude towards everyone here changed. I had made my decision. When I got off this coach in London I wasn't getting back on. I was going to start a new life.
I'm leaving home.
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