The Old Rust of Many

The Question of One.

Based on a theory I saw on Tumblr.

Parents are the limelight of a child's life. It's not uncommon for that light to dim, but that dim can be recovered. But there are moments in a family's life where the light cannot be dimmed, where it stays to dwindle until it is no more. Sometimes, it's for the better. Other times, it's a gutting feeling that harms the likes of the ones involved. 

When a child gets sick of being around their loved ones, who is to blame? The child, the parent, or one another? What else can they do when there's nothing that can't be saved? What if the parents lost the ability to change, to care? 

What should the child do? Give in to their parent's neglect, or do something about it? What if the situation was switched around? Would the parents give in to their child's misdemeanor, or do something about it?

It's both sides that count, and when both sides don't commit - to what future will the family hold?

I'll never know.

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Today's my mother's birthday. She's already middle age. My dad's no different. He's older but he isn't much different. Still the lazy father he always is.

My mother's been pouting me all week about what her 'little todd' was going to give her - I said to myself, "Why should I? Why would I?". I could give tons of examples about other lemurs that gave me a more worthwhile experience than my parents had ever done for me. 

Her 'little todd' has made friends that are really there for me, lemurs that actually talk to me and let me say words without being shut out. The competition gives me a headache, and I have to be around my friends to calm me down after having to be a mindless soul while being a raging entertainer that has to hide what no one knows about me.

My dad can't stop referring to me as 'little girl', no matter how many times I reminded him that I was his son. It aggravated me. He can't even remember his own son's gender. Even when I played into his forgetfulness, he just switches it around. It's not even intentional - my father's just that... not good-witted.

I'm only just a year away until I'm a full adult - in terms of my mother. One and a fifteen. A year that I've been waiting for a very long time. A time where I can finally leave the grasp of my mother's hands, and be on my own. 

One more year until I don't have to be forced into competitions and held under a will. I could've left earlier, but I was too scared to. My mother always found some way to keep me with her. She loves me, she really does, but she's blinded by her own bragging rights- her own memories and goals. To ignore her son's choices and wills of happiness. She doesn't mean bad; Truly, she doesn't, but it's exhausting.

What must I do to get her to understand? Even after all these years, change has barely been a storefront for her. It's all about her needs.

It's all about their needs.

Never - ever, my needs.

When will she ever care about my needs? I'm not just a prodigy. I'm a child.

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