Quite often I think there is nothing that I like about my parents. Everyone says that because they're your parents you must love them, it's burnt into your brain because on some distant biological wave they made you, but really? Just because a few cells met and did what nature meant for them to do? Reproduction is nothing but nature and chance. It's what happens after that creates emotion and connections. I struggle to think of things I admire and love about these people who 'created' me. I can't even count past my one hand of fingers. It sounds awful but almost everything about this situation I was born into pisses me off.
How can I have the slightest amount of respect for a woman who hasn't worked, not a jot, for the past 37 years? And for the last 12-15 hasn't done much of anything else either. Washing up bowls left overflowing discarded in random areas of the kitchen, dust collected for weeks and weeks, even the garden turns into chaotic overgrown jungle if I do not go out there and keep it in check, which I have grown tired of doing when I get no appreciation for such work. I'm spending this summer searching for jobs and writing my book rather than dedicating weeks to outside like I usually do. Spending most of the day lying on or in bed like a sickly old cripple, staring into space not bothering to occupy your mind or even attempt to do something active, I think it's disgusting.
Then there's a man who is the most selfish person I've ever met. Barely working...sort of self employed but not really making anything under that title. Any bread that does get onto the table goes straight into his own mouth, into his car shit and stuff he wants. I've watched my father put his pathetic earnings into crap while going past my birthday without even a glance up, going through Christmas since I was eleven without acknowledging me or the season. Bare cupboards and empty fridge that if I don't fill doesn't get filled. I can't pretend I'm not bitter because I am. It grates against my skin that my 21st birthday didn't even get a "Have you had a nice day Sian?" from my father, not a penny, not a sentiment, nothing. ...then a few weeks later and it's fathers day, did I do anything? When I'm struggling to feed myself and everyday I am up at 7am job hunting and applying....
...no I did not. Do you blame me? Do you read this and think I was unjust to not bother. I bought him a cake back from my weekend away at least, what did I have to listen to?...."It's fathers day, where's me stuff. Only tha one brotha has even come down, none of the others 'ave bothered."
Are you kidding me!!??
I was 21, that was what most people regard as the biggest birthday you have. I got jack all and you expect things from me? I wish I could say that he was joking, and the tone he used was casual and filled with humour, but it wasn't. I don't blame my other siblings for not bothering either, because they get sod all too, their children get nothing from their 'grandparents'. When he bought the new items to go on his bike, (completely unnecessary) he could have thought, oh it's my only daughters birthday this week, I won't buy this I'll save the money and give her that, or even...I'll put this money away and put it towards a new washing machine. But no, that isn't the way my father thinks.
It's been two solid months now that we haven't had a washing machine. Don't get me wrong, I'm not so upset because of the lack of something so necessary in a household, we went six months without a washing machine before...it's everything that bothers me. Everything about this place and these people. I'm so angry when I'm here I can't stand it. I cocoon myself in my room barely venturing out, and hardly dare ever use the excuse for a kitchen downstairs. I'd rather starve!
They don't understand, they can't digest what I find wrong with this situation. Growing up with next to nothing was bad enough, being picked on in the playground for having 'lazy' parents and not having money was one thing, growing up in high school was worse, but to be an adult and still be stuck here hating every second is frankly a little overwhelming. It's a tad dramatic to think of myself as a princess locked in a dungeon and needing a prince to rescue me, my prince would be a job, my castle somewhere clean and tidy and functional.
So people say they're your parents, you have to love your parents. I feel like smacking those morons in the face. I hate them more because they're my parents. Because that means these people brought me into the world, and what? I should be grateful? I'm tied to these people until they die, I can only hope I can shake them off once I leave, like a dirty scrounging mutt attached to your leg or a piece of trodden in chewing gum you scrape off the bottom of your shoe. They're just two people who's reproduction made me, it doesn't mean anything and it never ever will. No one will understand completely because you're not me, you haven't lived here with them for the last 21 years hating every moment since you were seven years old and became aware of what it was like. I've wanted a job and a career and to publish books since I could write because that was my escape plan. That was what I was sure would grow me wings.
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