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I know I need to be grateful, be thankful, but I’m not. That’s the sad truth, I’m not thankful for this, this holiday, this life, May. I’m not thankful that I spend every every holiday locked in the bathroom, tears streaming down my burning red face, clutching my sharp little blade. It’s inevitable. I’m not thankful that I can’t breathe properly unless I have what I turned into my blade in my hand. It’s my only constant. I’m not thankful that no matter how many people spend the holiday with us, I’m still drowning in a suffocatingly cruel loneliness, so immense no matter how hard I try to swim out of it I know I will always be succumbed. I never did learn how to swim properly. I’m not thankful that just the idea of a family dinner makes my chest tighten so much I’m not sure of the ache will ever go away, makes my hands tremble like I have hypothermia. I’m so weak. I’m not thankful for how utterly terrified I am all the time, that even simple questions from May make my mouth as dry as an overcooked turkey. I fight crime almost every day but looking at my aunt makes me more terrified than any of the criminals combined.
I don’t want it to be like this.
I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to cover my mouth so my sobs don’t make too much sound. I don’t want my only friend to be the piece of metal I slash myself open with. I don’t want the most stressful times of the year to be what’s supposed to be the happiest times of the year. I don’t want my heart to stop every time a holiday approaches.
I don’t want it to be like this.
I don’t have a choice though, I never have a choice, I never get consent, I never get to make any decisions for myself. How am I supposed to survive in the real world if I can’t even survive in my own ‘home’?
No matter what I do, even with a forced smile masked onto my face, I will never be enough for her. No matter how many dishes I help prepare, no matter if I set the whole table up myself, no matter if I do a majority of the clean up, I will never not make May pissed off.
I’m too loud or I’m too quiet. I give her a headache if initiate a conversation myself, despite the tears constantly pressing at my eyes. If I do not answer her unending prying questions to her ideals I will only infuriate her more. What those ideals are, she would never tell me.
No matter how many times I cry on a holiday I never run out of tears, this year it’s three times crying and counting, not an abnormally high amount.
I don’t want it to be like this.
But as much as I don’t want it to be this way, no matter how hard I wish for something to be different, I’m not the kind of person that gets their wishes granted. I don’t get a fairy godmother, a genie, or a savior. No one outside this apartment even knows anything’s wrong.
And no one will ever know. That’s my reality, that’s how it’s meant to be. I’m the kind of person that chokes down tears best they can, that sits alone in the dark in the bathroom because that’s the only safe place in this ‘home’ I’ve never felt comfortable in. No one ever sees how scared I am, how hurt I am, how messed up I am. No one will ever be able to help me because I am too weak to find the help myself. It’s not worth it, I’ve thought about it more times than I care to admit. There are only so many options to get away.
Running away: too risky, she’ll call the cops on me and they will inevitably find me. If they don’t I would never survive anyway, I may pretend to be a hero but when it comes down to it I’m weak. I’m so so weak I hate it.
Calling the police: she never physically hurts me, I have no proof of anything she’s done. No one would ever believe me. I’m a teenager anyway, the police have better things to do than help a stupid teen who can’t even help themselves. I’m so stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid…
Telling Tony: he has no reason to believe me, he thinks May is good. He can’t see behind her facade, no one can. All he sees is sweet smiles and an oh so very generous heart. He doesn’t see how much she terrifies me, how no matter what I do, whatever happens even if I have nothing to do with it it is always my fault. Everything is my fault. When the apartment got filled with bugs a few years ago, when Uncle Ben was still around, I told him about the bugs and he said he would talk to May. A couple weeks passed and May finally noticed the bugs herself, I have no idea how she didn’t notice until then, she proceeded to yell at me with no mercy, saying I should have hired an exterminator myself. That it’s not Ben's job to tell his wife, it’s my fault, it’s my responsibility to communicate with her and deal with the problem myself. It’s the kid with no jobs’ responsibility. Tony only sees what May wants everyone to see. She should be an actor with how perfect her pretending is, no one else can see how two faced she is unless she allows them to. Tony would never want me anyway, it’s a stupid idea, it’s selfish and cruel to think I could force that responsibility onto him when he never asked for it. It’s my fault anyway…
Getting a job and getting an apartment myself: even if I had four jobs I could never afford a place myself. I would starve to death, which wouldn’t be the worst thing but I don’t necessarily want to. She would find me anyway, whatever I do she will always find me. No matter how much she yells at me, picks apart my every part, complains about me to my face and behind my back, she will never let me go. She will never give me any freedom, that’s not in her nature. I belong to her, her thing to control and manipulate. She’s made sure that no matter what I do, where I go, I will always depend on her. I can’t ever be free.
There’s no way out.
I’m supposed to be thankful. I should be. I have a roof over my head. I have a bed to sleep in. I have food in the fridge. I go to a good school.
The selfish part of me can’t help but wish for more, to feel safe and comfortable, to feel loved and cared about. But that’s too much to ask.
No matter what I do I will always be alone on this cage. A domesticated bird, with wings unknowing how to fly, never having needed to when you can climb on the bars around you. Even if the cage door opens, which it never does, the bird can never fly free, it was never given the chance to learn how. I want to fly away, fly away and never come back. My heart aches at the idea of something better out there, a future that isn’t so screwed up. But birds that can’t fly don’t deserve freedom if they can’t soar away themselves, no ones going to carry them. Everyone assumes they can go themselves, they have wings, what’s to stop them from flying? No one stops to think if the bird can fly at all, if they ever learned, if they are capable of doing so.
If I’m a bird then I will never be capable of flight.