I don’t know how it happened. My mom was in China dealing with property affairs for my dying grandpa. I was living with a friend. My mom slaved hours over a schedule detailing all the different people who would take care of us over the week. Everyone pitched in. Except Dad. But that was considered normal.

My mom emailed the schedule. Dad didn’t read it. It was too much work for him to stop watching TV.

He didn’t read the schedule. That’s all he had to do. That’s all he had to do to know that he should have picked me up at my friends house, not my house. That’s all he had to do. Here I was first day back from spring break, and he is sitting on his ass. He made me late. I decided I didn’t need this stress in my life.
But we didn’t even get that far. I couldn’t even be late. 

Driving. Madness. Screaming. Fighting. That volcano of emotions I tried to push down finally erupted. It was the last straw. He said he was forgetful, he made mistakes. What he can’t see is that those are reasons not excuses. Years of this. Years. Of. This.

My grandpa is dying and you can’t even read a schedule that has been handed to you?

He thinks I’m just a moody teenager. What he doesn’t see are the years of this abuse being pushed down and my revolt spewing out. It was bubbling when he told me he could stay in our house. He said it was perfectly fine. You lost your right to step into that house a long time ago.  I erupted when he told me to blame mom for his mistakes. He had no right. I told him he was selfish. I told him he only cares about himself. I told him I want him out of my life. He told me I’d regret it. I told him I wouldn’t.

He thought I was abusing him. He limited me to 2 more attacks.  He can’t see how that is just a fraction of what hell he has put me through. How many more than just 2 attacks he has put me through. How many attacks he put mom through. I yelled at him to put me on the side of the road. I couldn’t escape the toxic any other way. I couldn’t make it. I just couldn’t swallow down the hurt for one more day, hoping that I’d learn something useful, just to get torn down again the next time.

There is so much more that I can’t even explain. It’s too much for words. My mind is going into automatic response of blocking everything out.

I called my friend’s mom to take me home. I sat in the bushes and waited in this little bush cove. I watched rich people judging me in my rattled, dishelmed state.

I felt sad, but when the tears threatened to pour over I felt nothing. I pushed my emotions down because they were too painful. But I wanted to cry. I needed to cry. I wanted that relief after crying.  But in pushing my emotions down, I think I forgot how to have emotions. Everything feels slightly dead to me. But I still feel slight reawakening.

Then when I tried to feel emotions, they were fake. I felt fake. I stared at nothing again.

I felt like I wanted to escape. I wanted to escape everything. I wanted to run, but I was too tired to run. My spirit was anxious to leave, but my body was worn down from the lack of living.

Karen came to pick me up. She pitied me. I swore I wasn’t always this dysfunctional. (I walked around like a ghost.)

Once at the friend’s house, I sang in the imprint of the creek in their backyard. I sat on a rock and sang. I worked from my sad songs to my hopeful songs. The emotions didn’t always match the words, but at least I was feeling better. (Dried up creek bed)

I got up and looked for river glass. I saw some peeking out from sand.

I picked up the pieces and kept moving forward.
And I looked at the former wine bottles and thought about life.
The river glass has to go through some rough spots to become art. River glass has to change, they have to be turned over, and they have to be washed over by the river. The sand has to work its way through and over the glass, creating it anew.
The river glass go through their course and finish the race.
I picked up the pieces and kept moving forward.