The Monster that Lives Inside

I’ve never been a very rash person.

I like to methodically think things through, see the situation from multiple angles and gave it plenty of time and thought. Though lately, I’m not really sure what has gotten into me.

I ordered a textbook for my Business Statistics class I am taking this semester a few weeks back, and when I finally got it in the mail, they had sent me an Indian edition, “for sale only in India, Sri Lanka, Bangledash, and Bhutan.” The text was all in English, but I didn’t know if it was still the same book or not so I shipped it back to get a refund. I decided to rent the book from Amazon (around the same price) and not go through the same company again. I had to expedite the shipping so I would get it in time to go back to Kansas City since I don’t trust the mailing at my apartment.

The previous days and the troubles with my family had been grating on me, so I had everything packed up and was going to leave once I received my textbook in the mail. So I waited. And waited. And waited. It never came. I called FedEx to see what was up – I paid an extra $15 for the shipping so I definitely should have received it. They said it wasn’t their fault, naturally, and to call the United States Postal Service. So I called them and they said it wasn’t their fault, it was Amazon. So I called Amazon and they apologized profusely and weren’t sure why my package wasn’t marked for the expedited shipping when it should have been. They issued me a refund, which I was grateful for, but I was so angry that I still didn’t have my textbook.

Looking back, I was so stupid, but I was so angry for some reason and when I get upset I just cry. I wanted to leave home and get away and I didn’t want to cause any more problems with my mother and I wanted to see Andrew and I couldn’t because of the stupid textbook. I didn’t know what to do. I called Andrew and he suggested either having it sent to Kansas City once my mother received it or waiting for it to come and leave then.

I asked my mom if she would be willing to ship it for me once it arrived and she asked, “Do you hate it so much here that you’ll pay $30 for overnight shipping just to leave tonight?” And me, being upset and incredibly rude, said, “Yes, I hate it here that much.” Other rude things were said that I don’t really remember. I was just yelling and getting out my bottled emotions and I couldn’t stop, even as I could see the pain on my mom’s face. My mom went silent and after a moment told me to write down the address. She then went to the room and didn’t say goodbye.

That hurt. So I threw the rest of my stuff into the car – as well as a box of tissues, because I knew I would need them – and called Andrew. I told him I was coming in that night and asked if he would help me unpack when I got to my apartment. It’s about a 3 and a half hour to four hour drive between Saint Louis and Kansas City, but I didn’t leave until 8:30PM, so I knew I would be pushing it to make it by midnight.

The first forty-five minutes went by quickly. I was still so angry and upset, just wanted to get as far away as possible. And then suddenly, I felt like such a jerk. I knew I had hurt my mom a lot because she didn’t even say goodbye or to drive safely. I knew she didn’t want me to drive so late. So I cried for a good while, quickly wiping my eyes so I could see the road but then having it go blurry once more. I couldn’t take back the words I said and I was far enough out that I couldn’t just turn around. It was all done for.

I called Andrew again, practically sobbing, and I explained everything to him. I asked, “Why do I feel so guilty for just being honest when everyone in my family treats me like crap?” He said, “Because you’re a good person.” He then told me to call my mom and apologize. So I did. She was silent on the other end while I explained myself but she said she was grateful that I called and that she was really upset.

I felt better, but only a little. Halfway into the drive, I had to blast the music I was listening to – old country ballads that perfectly reflected my gloomy mood and that I knew about half the words to – just to stay awake. And then I finally reached my home away from home. Andrew helped me bring my things up from the car.

It’s been a few days since I’ve been back. I’ve done some grocery shopping, cleaned my room up, tried to prepare for school starting again next week, but mostly I’ve just watched movies with Andrew and Downton Abbey when he’s been at work (by the way, absolutely fantastic and additcting. I love it.), but that’s only been really to distract myself. My mom and I have only texted and it’s still a bit awkward.

I wanted to get away from home, but the fashion I did it in only made me feel worse and now I can’t even appreciate the distance. Who’s this selfish, inconsiderate monster I’ve become?

Wish I could Drive and Never Come Back

I am so tired of my family.

I have never wanted to leave to go back to Kansas City so bad before. I always want to come home. I miss my family, blah blah blah, and then when I get home, I remember how all of them are suck freaking dicks.

When I come home, I always help around the house. I take out the trash, I load and unload the dishwasher, I do laundry, I help clean whenever we have company over. I help cook dinner whenever I’m home. I really don’t mind doing it, which is why I do it. Unlike my 28 year-old-brother who just sits on his butt all day downstairs and does absolutely nothing to help out. I don’t do it for the recognition, but it would be nice if anyone else in the house was even an inch grateful for what I do for all of them.

But no.

We had company over the other night and my mom said something about me being such a hassle and “piece of work” when I’m home. I laughed, because oh my gosh, she really thinks I’m exactly like my brother. I voiced that I help out in so many ways and she paused, thought about it a second, and then said “The first week you were home, you did.” I was pissed because not only does she not at least acknowledge that I help out, she made me look like some lazy, ungrateful child in front of all my parents’ friends.

It’s like she’s making things up about how I don’t help out just so that Ryan doesn’t look bad. How her and my father have absolutely no problem with him being 28, still living in the basement, and helping out in no way or form and not paying rent is beyond me. He just uses them and they let him. So he laughs whenever my mom says I don’t help out because he thinks it’s so freaking hilarious.

My mom doesn’t trust me at all either, which pisses me off. I stayed out at Andrew’s house one night until 2:30AM and she threw a fit in the morning that I stayed out way too late when she didn’t tell me that I had a curfew to begin with (considering it was never a problem in the past). And then in the most accusing tone ever, asked “What do you guys do all night, anyways?”

I wanted to tell her that we get wasted and have crazy, wild sex just to piss her off but I would only get slapped. It just makes me so angry that she doesn’t trust me enough to even hang out with my boyfriend of almost four years. She knows that I want to wait and have no intention of having sex until there is a ring on my finger. It was just like a slap to the face, like she was calling me a little slut.

On top of it all, my grandpa is the biggest racist I know. Since he’s living with us, all I can loudly hear him talk about to his friends on the phone is how awful Obama is, how the stupid “blacks” are overruning our city and country, and things I don’t even want to repeat. It has just been grating on my nerves all week because there’s nothing you can say to him that will make him change his mind or even shut up. UGH.

Tonight, I had put clothes in the dryer and was in my room so I didn’t hear the buzzer when it went off. It had apparently gone off a few times and when I left the room, had every member of my family yell at me. I’m sorry, is it so hard to go downstairs and just push the button to turn it off yourself? Or even easier, politely ask if I can go get my laundry? So I did what everyone else was doing to me, I yelled back saying all anyone had to do was ask me! It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t hear it!

So my dad yelled back, “Don’t like us yelling at you? Good! We’ll yell at you all the time so you can get used to it!”

I’ve just had enough. I slammed the dryer door shut. I slammed the gate by the stairs shut. I slammed the door to my room shut. I locked my door. If Andrew weren’t already in Kansas City, I’d be at his house right now just to freaking get away. And if I didn’t have to work for my mother on Wednesday (who will be with my grandpa during his surgery) I’d be throwing my crap in my car and leaving.

Instead I’ll just go for a really long drive and blast my music and just pretend that nothing happened, because that’s what my family does best.

© Copyright Rebecca Smith | 2011-2019