A hurricane of guilt has hit me with immense force, leaving a trail of massive destruction.
What was the cause of this fatal freak of nature? A bloody war between my mother and I, each of us entering the battle with a complete arsenal of heartless remarks.
It all began when I came home from a long, tiresome day lost in the jungle that is more commonly known as high school. The severe pain I have been plagued with seemed to have been radiating throughout my entire body the whole day and I was as frustrated and weary as hell. To make matters worse, I had to attend a damn 2 hour rehearsal for the choir my parents pushed me into joining.
So as you can imagine, my fuse was already short and I didn’t need ANYONE even attempting to push one of my buttons. But of course, knowing my mom, she pushed them. No, scratch that! She didn’t just push them, she punched them with all her might.
Eventually though I realized my army wasn’t strong enough to fight her. I raised my white flag and escaped from the house. I jumped on my bike and peddled as hard as my body would let me (which meant I wasn’t going very fast ) to a wooded area several blocks away. As I parked my bike next to one of the several autumn colored trees that stood overhead, I listened to the rustle of the dying leaves as they danced in the warm breeze. For the first time in a long time, I actually experienced a peaceful environment. There was no nagging, no screaming, no hatred, no violence. It was just me, the trees, and the leaves.
Once I finally collected my thoughts to the point where I thought I could return to the hell I call home, I turned my bike around and started peddling. By the time I reached my toxic abode, I could noticed my mom’s maroon car was no where to be seen. I breathed a sigh of relief because I knew this was a sign she had evaded the house in order to take my spoiled sister to choir rehearsal (My sister and I are both in the same choir). My dad was still home and after at least 15 minutes of me balling in the bathroom, I finally allowed him to talk to me.
Honestly, my dad is a good person to talk to. He seemed to attempt to understand my point of view, however irrational it qas. It made me feel better talking to him and it gave me hope that maybe, just maybe my mom would consider signing a peace treaty with me so we can start living a relatively happy life.
But I could have never been more wrong. When my mom returned home I made the effort to ask for her forgiveness. She turned her straight, stiff face towards me and as looked into her eyes filled with rage, I knew she would not grant me an ounce of mercy.
So now I am left to deal with a mother who could care less about me right now. Sometimes I wish I had a magic wand so I could make me and my mom’s relationship at least a tiny bit better. But I think at this point our relationship is so shattered, I don’t even think magic could glue it back together.