November 3, 2013
By , Charlotte, NC
I don't know if I'll ever forgive my mother. I don't know if my father's anger will ever leave my memory. I also don't know if the scar on my brother's forehead will ever completley heal. The scars on my legs didn't. They still haven't and it's been months. My family each represents a part of me. And I find it to be a big problem. Because inside and outside I resemble each one of them in a way I wish I didn't.

I've got my mother's face. So when I look in the mirror I can see her and all her dissapointment, anger, sadness reflected back at me and it hurts more than I can describe. It settles in my bones and bounces off of my ribcage. It's a tangible hurt. One that I hate feeling because it leads to desperation and I've always hated feeling desperate. I've always hated feeling trapped. But that kind of hurt gets trapped inside of me every time and I can't ever escape it. No matter how much I deny, distract, and pretend. It's always there. It always comes back. Sometimes it doesn't leave for a long time.

I've got my father's eyes and with that I have his anger. I can never seem to suppress it. He holds his feelings in until they burst. I hold my feelings in until they explode. Two very different concepts of the same person it seems. I hate that I have any part of him as a part of me. My father is cold, often distant. He's hard for me to deal with. Just thinking about him makes me want to break down and cry out an ocean. I think that my father secretly hates me. Even though he denies it every single time I bring it up. He's too scared to admit that he loathes something that he created. He doesn't want my mother to know how deeply he despises the very person I am. I know though. I can see it in his eyes. I can see it in mine. Truth is I hate me as much as he does. But like him I'm too hardpressed to admit it to anyone. Even if they figure it out.

From my brother I've aquired his longing. It seems that somehow we both live under the very same skin. He wants to get away as badly as I do. He's a rebel with plenty of causes. He knows how to play my parents, he knows how to forget about the slicing words with a bottle of booze and a cigarrette. He's a hippie in a different generation. Like him I believe that music can save the world. I think that California is the only place that will be able to contain my soul. It's the only place where I won't feel like a bird trapped in a cage. I can see he feels the same way. But he won't be able to get out. He's counting down the months until he's eighteen and he can leave but he's not going anywhere far. He's moving twenty minutes away to live with his friends in a trailer. I'll be different in that aspect though. The second I turn eighteen I'm buying a pack of cigarettes , getting in my car, blasting the music, and driving to California. That's the only place I can think of that will ever feel like home. The only place where I want to be.

I've got to much of my family in my system. That's why it's best that I get away. But i've still got four more years in a hellhole. I still have to deal with four more years of my father's anger, and his coldness. I've got four more years of my mother and the forgiveness that I just can't offer her. I don't think I will ever be able to forget honestly. My family makes the whole world seem like a bad place. They make me feel like I am nothing, no one. Just another person walking aimlessly who can't get their s*** together. And while I may not be completely whole I'm not aimless. I know what I need. I know where I need to go and it won't be here. I can't find comfort in this place. Not with these people who make me feel like I'll never find peace. I won't as long as they're standing over me.

There is no healing process. Not here. My parents are too oblivous to the scars. They're to oblivious to the sadness that made me get drunk. They didn't ask why I did it they yelled said they were dissapointed and tried to forget. But I didn't. I don't forget the pivotal moments. The ones that are actually important. I let boys run their hands over my body. I died fifteen thousand times in the span of three months. I struggled to become a new person. It's impossible though. My family is a neverending battle. Their words are like fire. My mother never asked why I was so sad. She let it go. I think she expected it to fly off into the wind and get forgotten. But she never did remember that I was the one who wouldn't let go. The one who wouldn't forget. My father refuses to admit how he feels about his children. He denies and denies but he failed to remember that I can tell when anyone is lying. And I've always known he was lying.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive my mother. I'm not sure if my father's instantaneous anger will ever leave my memory. I can't tell you if the scar on my brother's forehead will ever heal or if it will be like my scars, still ever present. Still too noticeable. All I do know is that my family resides everywhere on my body. They are in my skin, coursing through my veins. I wish they'd leave but they can't. At some point I will leave it behind. Start a new life. I won't look back. Not even for a second. I'm too tired of looking back. To tired of the ocean and the sea in my heart and mind. My family makes no sense and it will be pointless chasing after them. Forcing them to love me. It's like trying to find a ghost. And when I'm eighteen that's all my family will be. Just another ghost from my past. Another tainted memory. And that's the only resemblance to forgiveness any of them will ever get from me.

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