Life

Love, I am not taking advantage of them if they cannot function without me. I am home. They demanded me home last night. Not in a "we made a mistake and we need you" sort of way, but dad said in no uncertain terms, verbatim "get your *** home." I have not cried as much in the past three years as I have last night and today. I cried myself to sleep last night, cried before school, first period, second period, at lunch, fifth period, after school, when I first got home... now that I'm home, it is every time I'm alone. I hate it here. I hate my mom. When I grow and have children, she shall never see them. She shall not be at my wedding. She'll not be at my graduation. When I grow up, she will be out of my life. I am a commodity to her, and not a priority in my own household; she is therefore dead to me. She is an unfit parent, and I am finally fed up with it all. Dad can whine, and *****, and yell, but he had a choice to marry her, and he has a choice at any time to get out. If she tries to start **** with me, I will fight back. If she grabs me ever again, I shall not forget my current fury; I shall hit her back-- may the world be warned. I am no one's commodity; I am no one's maid. I am a human being-- I may not be any better than anyone else, but I am certainly no worse.
God damn it!
I am so tired of this. I am so tired of feeling this way, of being treated this way. My greatest fear is that I am not good enough, and the root of that fear is my mother. She is the one who cuts me down, and she is the one who has convinced me that I am not beautiful, and convinced me of my lack of worth. I am through.
This is my rebellion. I follow the footsteps of the classes of people who have rebelled against their countries to survive. It comes down to survival.
And I shall survive.
This is my darkness, but soon is my dawn-- and I, at the wheel of fate. If I can get out, I am out. Let dad still be my father, but she never my mother, again. If they divorce, so be it. I wish it. Let daddy be free of her.


Carrie,
To start off, my mother is bipolar. She is also an unfit parent. The house is a mess and stays a mess. It has been that way since seventh grade, when my parents got back together after separation for three years. She never cleans, and whines about cooking. I am the one who keeps the house. After dad demanded me home last night, it became very clear what bothers me about my home; I am a commodity to my parents. Not a daughter, or even a human being, but an unfeeling maid. They cannot function without me, though. It was not that they missed me that they called me and told me to come home, and it was not with remorse that they called. There was not a "we made a mistake, and we need you" manner. It was (verbatim) "get your *** home."
I am getting very depressed, to the point of being openly vulnerable, and losing control of the emotions I give off. I am so tired of this. I am so tired of feeling this way, of being treated this way. My greatest fear is that I am not good enough, and the root of that fear is my mother. She is the one who cuts me down, and she is the one who has convinced me that I am not beautiful, and convinced me of my lack of worth. I am through.
I started staying at my grandma's Monday night. I got home from musical rehearsal at 8:45 pm. Mom had nothing out for dinner, and dad had to go to the gas station, because he had forgotten to grab his card as he went to pick me up, and was running very low. Mom came home, as I was making fried egg sandwiches. She had stayed late at my dad's paint and body shop, playing a computer game she's become obsessed with. As soon as she walked in, I was very polite, and asked about her day, and if she wanted a sandwich. She said no, that she would rather I wash, and put away the dishes, deal with the laundry in the back room, and clean the bathroom. She then said that I should do all of that "NOW." I responded simply that I was making dinner for my family, because there was nothing out. She said that I was making myself out to be quite the martyr. At that point I had had enough. "Of all the people to accuse me of being a martyr, you are the last with a right."
She sniped at me, berating me for everything I am, do, think, feel. As soon as dad got home, she changed. She was sweet, and mild, and then went to tattle on me to dad. I told dad I needed to talk to him, and told him what actually happened. The night before, for four hours she yelled at me for everything I am, do, think, feel. She is generally discontented with me; she told my uncle on my dad's side, yesterday, that I've been "**** around the house, lately" and "useless."
At 10 pm, Monday, she started going through my sister's stuff in boxes at the top of the stairs. My sister hasn't been in my house since October sixth of last year. Here is the link to my blog, if you'd like a more in-depth story of that. http://www.online-literature.com/for...og.php?u=38668 In a nutshell; Sunny got involved with a 25 year old, cut herself, got bakeracted, went to live with Uncle Danny (dad's side). From October 6th, until winter break, I did not touch any of her stuff, though there was 6 loads of laundry, and everything else of hers was in disarray. She said it needed to be a family project, but every time I went to her about it, she said "I can't deal with it; you do it." And so, I did, almost three months later. A lot of her stuff ended up in the hallway at the top of the stairs. Mom was going through it at 10pm, I had FCAT the next day, and was working on an essay. She called me up, to take the shoes out of the box with clothes. Apparently she couldn't do it. She yelled at me while I was there, again for no reason. I did not respond, and she grabbed my wrist.
I snapped, yelling in her face to not even touch me, again.
Dad told her to stop starting **** with me, and took me to grandma's. They did not survive a week without me. When I came home, the counters in the kitchen had not been cleaned since I left. The birds had not been fed or watered for a week-- since I left. Nothing had been cleaned at all, since I left. They cannot function without me.

These are two letters written to friends. I cannot write more to publish. Let these explain what is going on. My friends, I am lost.