Words

“These suffocating memories are etched upon my mind and I can't escape from the enemy
inside.” -Dream Theater, The Enemy Inside

Sixteen

Sixteen has always been the age I was looking forward to. But some reason I feel sick. Sick
that I am this age. Sick that this really could be happening. I’ve been planning this since I was
thirteen. I just became a teenager then. Why am I so worried about this? I have all the proof I
need. All of the yelling and screaming. All of the hateful things that have been said. I am ready
for this. He is ready to help me.

Some reason I am having second thoughts on this. What if she really can change? She did
stop saying, “I feel like you don’t love me anymore.” Maybe things will get better.

I walk out of my room. I sit next to my dad on the couch. I really hope I don’t regret my
decision.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Seventeen

I lock the bathroom door. I turn on the water in the shower. Is that loud enough? I take my
phone out of my pocket and turn it up as loud as it can go. Rock music is really loud. Hopefully,
no one will hear.

I let my sobs out. They are drowned by the sounds of water and music. What did I do
wrong? What did I do to deserve this? I wish I could fix what I did, but how can you fix your
mistakes when you don’t even know what you did?

All I did was ask a question. It was just a question. Can I take this dresser to dads? Mine
there is small and I have another pretty big one here. It was like all of hell broke loose. She
screamed at me and accused me of things. All of the words she said are etched into my mind
and they are playing on repeat.

Why do you treat me like shit?

Let me guess, you’re moving out?

I can’t believe you don’t love me anymore.

 Why do words hurt? Why can words rip my heart out? Why do they get to me? I shouldn’t let
them, but they do. They hurt. I guess I’m just too pathetic to stop the words from being carved
into my mind. I can’t stop them from being etched into my heart and soul.

Suddenly, other memories are brought up. They flash throughout my brain. Phrases hit me
over and over. The words. The fights. The arguments. Is this my hell?

“Just eat the meatloaf!” she yells. I shake my head, crying.

“What’s wrong?” my brother asks. “Why is she crying?”

“Your sister doesn’t love me anymore.”

SLAP

I rub my cheek, hoping to make that memory go away. I can feel his palm on my face. He
didn’t know that it was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t though. Maybe I deserved it.

“Why is mom not with us on a family vacation?” my brother asks my dad.

She went to a damn concert instead. She said we “never did anything”. But we did. We
always did. We would have family dinners and go to movies and bowling. But, maybe that isn’t
anything. Maybe everything that I feel is anything, just isn’t.

“Stop crying!” she says. I wipe my mouth. I hate puking.

“I want my dad!” I say.

“He’s at work anyways,” she says.

“I wanna talk to him,” I say.

“Fine! I guess you love him more than me,” she says, throwing her phone at me.

A vile taste shows up in my mouth. It’s as if I’m back in that moment, calling my dad crying.
It was late and I was sick. I was eight and I woke her up. Maybe I should have known what to
do, but then again I was eight. How was I supposed to know what to do?

“Can I go play with my friend?” I ask, after seeing my best friend in the park.

“No,” she says. “You’re not allowed to play with her. Her parents are bad people.”

All they did was help my dad. They never seemed like bad people. They would always help
us out. Her mom even helped me go back-to-school shopping with my dad. Maybe that is a bad
thing. Maybe it’s because she helped me. Probably because I’m worthless.

“Are you moving out?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. “I’m just putting my things away.” I put my hairbrush in my drawer.
 “If you are, just tell me,” she says.

“I’m not!”

“Just tell me!”

“Get out!” I yell. “This is dad’s house! Leave!”

“Why do you always treat me like shit?”

I sob into my hands. Am I really that bad of a person? So bad, that I deserve all of these
words that crush my heart? Why are the words playing throughout my head so loud? Why are
they consuming me? I wish these words would just go away.

Eighteen Commented [1]: your mom is satan

Commented [2]: You're not wrong
“You can’t leave!” she yells. “I am your mother!”

“And I’m eighteen!” I yell back, ignoring her and moving to the front door.

“I won’t let you!”

“I’ll call the police!” I retort. I turn towards her. “I’ve given you way too many chances to
change, but you never did. Your words scarred my heart. I’m never going to look back and
remember you as an amazing mother who shaped my life. I’m going to remember you as the
tyrant who tried to control me.

“I don’t want you in my life anymore,” I say, letting the words off my chest. “I forgive you for
everything you have done, but I can’t keep you in my life. You are toxic. I can’t stay.”

I turn around and open the front door. I leave her speechless. I put the box in the backseat
of my car and get in. I drive down my mother’s road for the last time.

I pull up into the parking lot of my new apartment building. I grab the box and go up to the
apartment. I open the door and enter. A banner that says ‘You did it!’ was hanging up. There
was a small cake. I laugh.

“You didn’t have to,” I say.

“But you finally did it,” my roommate says. I put down the box.

“Well,” I say. “I guess I should thank God for my strength. Hopefully I passed his test.”

I’m happy for the new chapter in my life to come. I forgive her for everything she did, but I
couldn’t keep her in my life. I know she is my mom, but she wasn’t a good person. I have to
have good people in my life. I hope she figures out what if going on and she gets the help she
needs. Maybe she’ll get better and she can be in my life again. But for now, she’s not.
 As soon as I left, I left all those horrible words at the door. I will still remember them. They
hurt me, but they won’t hurt me any longer.