School started before my mother arrived. The first month was tense. It was difficult adapting to a new school with a different system, language and culture. It didn't help that my classmates avoided me like the plague. My first month of school was filled with stress over plenty of failed or barely passed test, sleepless nights and sadness. Though I stayed strong in front of my parents I would occasionally cry at night. When my mother arrived I'd gotten use to the pointless work load. Halfway through the year the school psychologist called me and my mother into her office. She claimed that if I wasn't taken from the school soon I'd commit suicide. That broke me and I hate to admit it, but I gave her the satisfaction of showing desperation on my face and crying. Later I realized the whole thing was a plot to get me out of the school. Apparently I was lowering the schools grade average, tarnishing there high record. Bunch of pompous arses they all were. This is where I lost my belief in school. In my three years there I learned that most of the teachers cared about the schools reputation then the students or their checks. Once I'd transferred schools I gave up. Those two years showed me that I'm not A average student, but a C average one. I learned that not everyone can be at the top, that's why there are more pawns then knights in chess. I'm just another pawn waiting to be sacrificed so that someone else can get to the queen.
After that talk with the psychologist my mother took a turn for the worst, but it didn't really show until about a year and a half ago. Whenever my mother drank even if it was just a glass of wine she would get emotional or violent. She never hit my brother and me, but she'd try to take it out on my father. Who in turn would run into my room so he wouldn't be blamed for hitting her. One night it was so bad that my brother, father and I all sat in my room while my mother banged on the door yelling at us. She hated it here. This wasn't a surprise. I knew from the moment we left the schools shrink that something had changed. I was just waiting for the bomb to drop. Two months after that incident my mother took me for ice cream and told me she was leaving. I wasn't surprised, but I listened and nodded at all the right parts told her I understood and wasn't angry at her. That I still loved her and all that mushy junk. It was me who gave her that final push to leave and I hate to say it, but I was happy when she said she was leaving. At that point I wanted my mother to be happy and so I let her go. My father and I dropped her off at the aeroport one early saturday morning and I had a few tears in my eye's, but that was it. Those were the last tears I ever shed for my mother. We all adjusted quickly to life without her. It was peaceful maybe at times a bit hectic, but I was content for the first time in months and I think my brother was too. We kept in contact with my mother, calling her once a week and writing emails. I used to enjoy our talks together, they could last up to an hour sometimes. Now they barely last ten minutes. Life was going well my brother and I grew closer then ever before, which was strange because we had always been close. We'd become siblings and friends. Writing this I realize my brother had become my world. My center. I lived to talk, play, argue and spend time with him.
For months we lived like this spending time together, annoying each other. We got to know each other inside and out. Knew how to push each others buttons- everything really. That summer my father bought us tickets to the states to see our mother. That's when the stress started again. The constant badgering to stay with my mother. My grandmothers pleas to not leave her. Then one day in July my mother came to my brother and told him he was staying with her whether he wanted to or not. I still remember the talk we had when he got back. We were on the swings at the park and my brother broke down saying he didn't want to leave me. I told him I'd try to figure something out and when we were in visiting my aunt I gave an empty promise saying that I'd take him back with me. But it was just a lie. Broken words on helpless ears. I gave him false hope. I still hate myself for that. It's cruel, because I still remember my exact words "I'll fight tooth and nail to get you to come back." All a lie, for by the time we got back I had no fight left in me. We were literally glued to each others sides by then, but soon my brother started school and I asked to leave early. At the airport I was dropped off by my mother, grandmother, her friends and brother. I first said goodbye to my grandmother, she handed me an envelop after. I tore it into pieces after reading it's contents later. Then my mother. She like grandmother were crying and I can still hear the words she whispered into my ears when we hugged goodbye, "why are you so cold?" I was stoned face during our exchange just like with my grandmother. I turned my back to them when saying my goodbye with my brother. We didn't say anything touching I could only muster a "see you later kid," while he nodded. I messed up his hair and turned to leave, before he said "why don't you kick me one last time? Just for fun." I just gave him a somber smile and right then almost teared up, but I shook my head waved goodbye then turned my back on half of my family. This is where my last virtue was killed, by me.
This is where I realized my family virtue had become my brother. Every since we were little we had been together. My parents would often send us to Europe to visit my dads Grandparents for the whole summer. During that time we were without my parent's and we got used to being without both of or one of them. So the split we're facing now is painful for me and for him. I've heard from my mother that He has day's were he's quiet, sad and depressed. Mother claims he misses the time when we all lived together in our old home. I think he just misses his father and sister. While my father has told me that there have been times where my brother would break down crying and ask him to call back in ten minutes or so. I think it's painful for him and though I can only speculate I think he misses me just as much as I miss him. We never mention these feelings though. When we talk, which is rare, we stay to safe topics such as school and free time. When we were on vacation people would comment about how well we got along or how close we were. I thought nothing of it, because for me it was natural to treat my brother as an equal. In the spam of three years we had become each others best friends. Now sitting alone in this empty house knowing that the dusty room across from mine is empty- it hurts. What hurts more thought is the fact that I am causing the same pain for my brother. I hurt him, deeply. Abandoned him and I don't know when I'll see him again. If I'm lucky it'll be in two years time, but I doubt it. What's even worse is that in that time we could just become two strangers. The only thing connecting us would be our blood. It hurts knowing something like this will probably happen and even though I still love my brother and will do anything for him. He will grow and he will forget, because despite his maturity he is still a young teen.
Now my virtues are all gone! One abandoned, one shattered and one taken away. So tell me now how do I go on? What is the point of me floating here endlessly without rhyme or reason? My chest hurts and my mind aches. I'm tired of all of this pointless breathing. My life is a routine that I live by which is slowly driving me insane. I get up, go to school, come home, eat dinner, tutor comes, tutor goes, homework, training, sleep. That is literally my day everyday. With a few small exceptions, but living that week by week. It's killing me and I don't know what to do about it. I can set a goal to strive towards, but why bother when even though I do my best, my best just isn't good enough. I sit here pouring my dirty soul out and wonder why I don't just end myself now? The only thing stopping me is my father. He would break if I suddenly disappeared. He wouldn't understand what is wrong, why I did it. My father and I talk a lot, but I don't tell him everything. So here I sit and contemplate what do I do now? One of the most annoying things though is the fact that despite all these emotions swirling through me nothing is seen on the outside. Only dry tears are on my face, but even then I didn't make a sound. I didn't suddenly break down into sobs. A couple of tears dropped and then they stopped. When I saw my friend this summer she told me I had gotten a lot better at lying and holding in my emotions. It's sad but true. Now it's difficult to rile me up, because only my brother knew how to do that. I get annoyed, frustrated and find amusement in my classes antics, but those seem to be the basic emotions I show on a daily basis. Five months I've lived like this. In this state of numbness, that I don't know what to do about.
So I ask again what do I do now? It's not like I'm asking for some great mission that'll mark me in the history books I just want a reason for my existence again. I wish to stop being lonely, so that the pain in my chest can go away. I wish for something that will never happen for even I am unsure of what the void could fill or if it even can be filled. Maybe I'm broken? In a months time my deadline will be nine years, although I still wish to die this year. Even if it's to go to hell or wherever the heck I'll go. Maybe I'll just disappear from existence.
Maybe, I'll see you around? Probably not.
No comments:
Post a Comment