Work Text:
Mark,
Is it possible to feel angry, scared and alone at the same time?
As drunken shouts and jeers rise from the floor below, these are the emotions that I feel. I feel angry from the fact my parents would do such a thing; drink themselves silly to have a good time. Why is it necessary to have a drink to laugh these days? Of course, I would love my parents to be happy but to hear them say things that wouldn’t if they were in their right mind fills me with rage. To know that they are fine with being downstairs without a care in the world and that I could die up here without them knowing until the morning kills me inside. Even the fact that right now I am being insulted and compared to as if I can’t hear it hurts. It all does.
Which is a reason why I am scared. Being drunk scares me. The fact that you do things you wouldn’t normally and that you can literally give yourself temporary amnesia frightens me. Of course it sounds lame, I’m a teenager that’s scared to get drunk.
But I guess it’s who I am.
Right now, I’m scared that my parents could hurt themselves or others. Of course, we are in a locked house with the neighbours and ourselves but I still have that fear. Maybe it’s irrational, maybe it’s not. Sometimes I have the fear that they might even hurt me, their temper amplified by the alcohol. I know it will never happen but I’m still frightened.
I also feel alone. The internet cut off from a previous argument I have no access to my internet friends and I feel like all my other friends are too busy to bother them with my own irrational problems. I can’t exactly talk to my parents either. You don’t talk to a chasing monster and ask it to stop scaring you, do you?
I heard once that a drunken man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. I hope to God that this isn’t true. One glass of wine is all it takes for my parent’s to start complaining about the “gays” and how terrible they are.
It’s something that scares me more, because Mark I nearly told them. I nearly told them what I was, what we are.
I’m glad I didn’t.
Of course, your parents took it as if you were telling them that you were catching the bus to town and I remember you complaining how your nerves were all for nothing.
I wish I could be like you.
I can’t imagine telling my parents that I’m bi.
“Some of my friends at school are gay,”
“Really?? There’s no way you can tell at that age,”
How would you know?
Telling them I was gay would be hard. Telling them I am bi would be plain impossible. I can just imagine the words that would be used to describe me.
Greedy
Stupid
Fake
Liar.
My mother would probably just deny the whole fact and claim it never happened. Pretend I hadn’t told her what I was and that I didn’t know what I was talking about.
Because secretly, she knows that that’s the biggest insult.
God, Mark I wish I had it as easy as you. That I didn’t have to hide myself. That I didn’t have to agree with the insults and that I didn’t have to deal with all this shit.
Who knows why you decide to stay with me.
I love you and I can’t wait to see you on Sunday,
Jack x