"When I kill myself is it going to be your fault or your dad's?"
I could smell the sour stink of whiskey on her breath and feel the heat on my skin. She stomped away and I stood speechless.
I was not confused about the second half of that question; it would be my fault. Of course. Every bad thing that had ever happened was my fault. I knew this. She told me this every day of my life. Everything bad in the world, in her world, was my fault. All the way down to my conception and her having to drop out of high school because she was pregnant with me. That was my fault. Everything. My fault. I knew to the core of my being that I was bad. I was weird. I was unlovable. I was a burden. I didn't belong. I was... let me enumerate:
1. Selfish
2. A Whore
3. A Liar
4. A Slut
5. Lazy
6. A Prick-tease
7. Spoiled Rotten
8. Spawn of Satan
9. Crazy
10. Worthless
I turned to go to my room. I was only thinking about how bad I was, which made me feel selfish because I should be thinking of my mom. She was drunk again. She was angry again. Her and dad were fighting again. And it was all my fault, Again. I paused in my room. I didn't close the door. I didn't sit down. I just stared at my feet and that's when the realization struck me. She said WHEN; she did not say IF.
She said "WHEN I kill myself..." I walked out of my room and went into hers. Then into her bathroom. Her closet. Down the hall. I looked in my brother's room and in the main bathroom. I walked through the living room, past my dad who was currently yelling at his desk and throwing things around or having a "temper tantrum" as my mom would say. I walked into the dining room and scanned the kitchen. I looked in the laundry room and then in the t.v. room. I went outside and wandered around the backyard, I had been increasingly moving more quickly with each step and I was almost sprinting when I got back into the house.
I stood quietly and looked around. "Dad, where is mom?" I said this very loudly into the empty space. "How the fuck should I know?" They had been arguing when I got home from school. They were usually always arguing about something and, as usual, just me walking through the door after school was enough to drag me into it. I had always done something wrong and I always needed to be yelled at. And, I truly believed that this is what normal looked like: people yelling, stomping, glaring, tossing things around and then finally ignoring one another. The old silent treatment. The silent treatment with no explanation was the best, as it was sure to induce hour upon hour of guilty shameful feelings. This was all very normal. Except for the threat. That was new…
The Garage.
I quickly walked through the laundry room and opened the door to the garage. There she was. The garage door was closed, the car was running, her head was on the steering wheel, and a bottle of whiskey was in her hand. I turned and ran inside, fast! I grabbed the phone from the kitchen. I dialed 911. "My mom is in the garage with the car running, I think she is trying to kill herself!" "My address is...." "She's been drinking and..." "Let me check..." As I turned to go back to the garage my mom walked inside.
"She just came inside." I said into the phone.
"Who are you talking to?" My mom asked.
"I called 911; I thought you were trying to kill yourself.”
At that moment I turned from my mom and back to the woman on the phone. "She's fine. It's ok." I was told that someone had already been sent and that they would be here soon, just to check on us. I hung up the phone.
"You are such a liar! You never thought I was going to kill myself. You are just trying to get me in trouble!"
I could smell the sour stink of whiskey on her breath and feel the heat on my skin. She stomped away and I stood speechless.
