Arg!  My mom is making me so mad!  Last night, I was getting panicky, anxious, and depressed as she was driving me home from my jazz band practice.  I mentioned this to her, as the tears started coming, and she just became unreasonably hostile.  "Why can’t we just have a nice, quiet night?"  she says.  I don’t know, Mom, maybe because sometimes, you just can’t hide my wide array of mental illnesses.  Maybe sometimes, you just can’t ignore it.  Maybe once in a while, you actually have to put a tiny bit of your effort into fighting the demons I fight every second of every day. 

She used to.  She used to be my rock.  But then Lauren, my 13 year old sister decided she was going to go to dance class 7 days a week.  Yep, all 7.  And now nothing else matters.  But back to my story.

She got angry with me.  She yelled, and continued driving past our house, around our loop of the neighborhood.  I told her to take me home.  She ignored me and continued yelling.   I told her to stop telling me that "It wasn’t real".  That’s referring to my feelings.  Yep, she was one hundred percent, totally convinced that I’m completely happy almost every day except having what she called a bad day every once in a while.  She’s wrong.  Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I was dead.  It’s just easier to suppress some days than others. 

I told her not to say that.  This is how the next part of the conversation went:

Her (exasperated) : But it’s NOT real!

Me (furious): STOP SAYING THAT IT’S NOT REAL

Her: I didn’t!

Those are perfectly exact quotes.  I couldn’t be any more accurate.  I ended up laughing kind of uncomfortably for a moment.  She said some crackpot thing about how that’s not what she meant to say, I think.  I don’t know, I didn’t really understand, nor was I listening.

We were approaching the beginning of our neighborhood loop again, where it connects to the main road.  She slammed on the brakes, and my 4 year old sister flew out of her car seat, ending up upside down on the floor, but Mommy dearest didn’t care about that.  She yelled louder than before and began to swear.  That did it.  F*ckity F*ck F*ck, I just think swearing is the height of unintelligence, and that’s what it sounded like to me.  I leapt out of the car and started running.  She stepped on the gas and floored it in the opposite direction.

I’ve always had plans for running away, just in case the situation called for it, but I didn’t have any of the stuff I’d been planning on bringing, seeing as I’d jumped out of the car, and seeing as it was the middle of the night, I couldn’t find the spot I’d been planning on going to.  So I walked out of the neighborhood down the main road, thinking briefly of going to the hospital psych ward. 

I got quite a ways out when my dad called on my cell phone.  He lives during the work week a few states away.  He tried to be all parent-y at first, trying to pretend my mother hadn’t called him first and that it was entirely random… gosh he was glaringly obvious, but props to him, cuz he persuaded me to go home.  I walked home.  My dad had told me that he would call my mom and tell her to leave me alone when I got home, but she said he never called when I asked her.  She offered a hug… I couldn’t tell if it was reconcilliatory or apologetic or what, but she did, and told me that my little sisters, 4 and 6, had cried themselves to sleep, particularly the 4 year old, who was in the car when I’d up-and-left, but also Lindsey, who desperately needs me because of her growing ocd issues.

I sat down at the computer and drew up an ultimatum.  I’ll post it in another blog.  But I left it, in an envelope, on the kitchen table. 

When I got home from school today, she wasn’t here.  When she arrived, a couple minutes after me, she said a brief goodbye after leaving the little ones with me and driving my other sister to dance class.  And I haven’t seen her for about 3 hours since.