Close the Door Behind You

   contains themes of abuse, mental health, and self harm 

      It is quite funny how we never got along, yet everyone saw us as a close-knit family. We were basically the American dream with a husband, wife and two kids. There is a boy and a girl to be exact, but not in that order. I have always wondered if the first time I ever disappointed my mom was at her gender reveal when I was in her womb. All of our pets had to be males, all her friends were guys, even until this day, the only family members we have met that were not male was her mother. Crazy, isn’t it? It really makes me wonder though. 

        My mother and I have such a weird relationship. She is a control freak, but also does not get along with me specifically. I have to take on all the responsibilities, yet when it comes to life decisions, like which college to go to, I cannot do anything right. She always picked on me growing up and that is why I loved having my dad around. He would tell her to ease up or comfort me after the argument was over. All the way back to elementary school it was like that. Back in the day when trying to tell your side of the story or explain anything, was considered “talking back”. Being the hated one in the family and having your younger brother be the golden child sucked. 

        Mom ruled the house and I got blamed for everything my brother did or made up about me. This was also in the era where hitting your kids, no matter the age, was acceptable. My reports of her getting herself upset about something and then punching me got passed off as normal discipline, according to my school's counselor. No one ever questioned why I was cutting myself either, not when it came to dealing with my mom, the image of “perfect, happy family” we had to keep up for the public, not when I was transitioning from middle school to high school, not when my dad cheated on my mom and got kicked out, and not when I had the weight of the world on my shoulders at the age of fourteen. 

        My mom ended up having to work twice as much to pay rent on one income, which left me to go to school and raise my brother. Of course the rules still applied. If he did not do his homework, I would be in trouble. If he was hungry when my mom came home, I was in trouble for that too. I would have to make food and let it sit on the table to show I made him food and he chose not to eat. Those were the days that it was fine he did not eat because he just was not hungry. If she wanted to throw a curveball, it was my fault for not making him something he wanted or would eat. I could never win and it was insane. I was forced to get my license at sixteen. I had to take the test until I passed so I could drive my brother to school, practices, friends’ houses, and everywhere else. Fast forward ten years and he is going to be twenty-three and still has no license. I am twenty six now and still drive him around places. 

        Raising my brother for years finally got to a point where he accidentally called me mom. Admittedly, it was bittersweet. There was a slight pause the first time and then we made eye contact, but I never made him apologize. It is now a small running joke between us and sometimes a sweet memory we look back on. 

        As the years went on, things got worse between my mother and I. Eventually she found a boyfriend and left my brother and I at our house. She would come by every couple of days just to yell and pick up a fuss. It would be random though, so we were almost in a state of anxiety everyday not knowing if she would come by that day or not. After a few months she took my brother to her boyfriend’s house and left me. I was not alone though, since she had our crazy next door neighbor, who recently got evicted, move in. A mom, two kids, the third kid would come around every now and then, and all four of their dogs in my two bedroom one bathroom house. We had no garden by the way, we shared a small area of grass with the house in front of us, but no fence and no privacy. When mom would visit she would be disgusted by the state of the house. I cleaned everyday and by the time I returned home from school or work there would be food on the carpets and things everywhere. Mom got fed up and moved them out after three months. 

It sucks because I could not talk to anyone about it. I made the mistake of telling someone about it when I was fifteen. She lost her mind and I got in so much trouble that day, so I never told anyone about it. A month before my eighteenth birthday, she broke the news that she no longer wanted the house and I told her she needed to wait until I turned eighteen officially if she did not want a fight from me. Thankfully, she agreed but it was almost eerie how easy it was. Once we moved into her boyfriend’s house I realized how much there would be to adjust to. Her boyfriend lived in a complete opposite way than we did. He was also kind of a jerk. Through the next 9 years, I think he called my mom more names and cuss words than my dad did in the twenty-seven years they were married. Even after the divorce, I do not think my dad called my mom anything bad. I also do not think I have had so many mental breakdowns in my life. I put myself in therapy only two years after moving in. I have anxiety medication now too. None of which has helped with this past month though. Usually fights last about maximum a week, but my life choice of taking a vacation for a week broke the camel's back. Now, do not ask me why it did, but all I know is it is time to move out. I think with my dad’s passing earlier this year, my mom has gone over the edge. The fighting got so bad she demoted me from daughter to roommate, so I am back from vacation, packed up, and leaving. 

        I have my whole life in boxes ironically representing how I have felt for years. Odd enough, hearing the detachment from her for the last time did not hurt me like it used to. Losing the last of my family did not feel like the end of the world anymore, even with mom and I never fighting so bad before. With how intense it was, the house feeling like eggshells and ice, I am quite surprised it did not escalate to getting physical. I cannot keep in contact with my mom, at least not for a little bit of time. There is no reason to talk to her boyfriend and my brother will be just fine with my mom giving him the world. Looking back at the empty walls of my room and walking down the hall to the front door seems like a slow motion scene in a movie. This is my life for real and I am about to leave this all behind. I finally step out front with my last box ready to go to my car. I am ready to go into my new place for my next chapter in life, so I close the door behind me.