Wanting Space

January 17, 2010
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I wake up from my mother yelling my name from the first floor of our house. She has a voice that pierces my eardrums. It feels like a sonic wave has come to blow out my ears.

“Taylor, get out of bed and get ready for school!” She yells again. I sigh in defeat and climb out of my twin-size bed. I scratch my head, and I notice that my hair is a giant mess lying on my head. Great. That means that I will end up being late while I try to fix it.

I stand up and head straight for my messy closest that my mom has been yelling at me to clean for the past month. I pull out a black shirt that has small flowers printed into it. It is my favorite shirt, and I am so happy that it isn’t dirty. My jeans, on the other hand, are all dirty. I walk over to the dirty clothes basket and pull out my favorite pair of dirty jeans. I smell them in case of an odor releases from its seams. It smells fine (thank goodness).

I spray myself with some perfume that my mother had bought me for Christmas. It is my favorite kind. I am comforted by its musky smell.

It was a good morning until I stepped out of my bedroom, and there he is. He doesn’t like to speak. He just likes to watch me with his dark-colored eyes. His hair is brown and short, and he is wearing a brown shirt with a pair of jeans. I sigh and try my best to ignore him, but he always follows me. It’s annoying, and when he talks, it just sounds like a scream. A scream of pain and hurt, but I can’t help him. I have no choice but to ignore him.

I walk downstairs to fix my hair in my mother’s bathroom where my hair straightener is placed. Flipping on the light switch, I walk in, and he goes to sit on the toilet to watch me. He doesn’t like it when he has to stand.

My hair is straight, and my makeup is done, and I am ready to go. I walk outside, key in hand, and get into my car. He gets in, too. I place my bag on the backseat and place my key in the ignition. My car purrs to life, and I start to drive to school where I am class secretary and a straight A student. My teachers all adore me, and I am always able to do everything they assign.

The school day passes by in a flash, and he stays by my side the whole time. My friends talk to me and ignore him like I do. I don’t think that they like to hear him speak either.

I come home after eight long hours, and I am so tired. My mother is in the kitchen cooking my dinner. I sit at the dinning room table to do what very little homework I have. He sits in the chair next to me.

“Hey, mom,” I start.

“Yes, Dear?” She asks.

“Do you see anything?” I asked.

She gives me a questioning look. “Nothing besides you, Dear.” She states, confused.

I nod but don’t reply. I go up to my room after my homework and get on my laptop, logging onto Google. I search the words: Needed doctor’s help, potential schizophrenia.

I am ready to be alone.

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