12- the hell of being a teenage girl

1.9K 99 52
                                    

Nora Farris
Thursday January 24, 2019
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───

chapter twelve- the hell of being a teenage girl

chapter twelve- the hell of being a teenage girl

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.









─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───

Nora FarrisThursday January 24, 2019─── ・ 。゚☆: *

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Nora Farris
Thursday January 24, 2019
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───

                   I FINALLY GET MY PERIOD AFTER TWO BLOODLESS MONTHS. The first month, I was scared I was pregnant, but after a visit to the doctor I was informed that my anxiety and depression may be causing me to have an irregular cycle. The only thing my depression has been good for thus far.

Jackie was off tonight. Which meant it was just us. I felt like I hadn't seen her in ages, I saw her passing by, coming in from work late at night or leaving early mornings, some nights she didn't come home at all. I didn't mind really, if anything I liked it. It gave me space to grieve and grow on my own without her nagging.

She sat on the couch, catching up on whatever soap opera she was binging, sipping on moscato. She looked cozy and like a normal human being. She didn't look like a mother of a sad teenaged girl, she didn't look like a widowed wife. She just looked like a regular person, living a regular life.

Part of me wanted to scream and yell at her, but for what? She couldn't be sad forever, some people moved on faster than others. But I wasn't being entirely fair, I know she hadn't moved on, you don't just move on that quickly from decades with a person. But she was starting to lose the saddened look in her eyes, the only thing my mother and I had in common recently was that look. It was a glossy, blank look, it made your eyes dark and low, my mother and I both had it. But hers were slowly slipping away, returning to normal unburdened eyes.

Soon she would be completely okay and that would leave me all alone. It wasn't fair to Dad or me.

"Who are the flowers from?" She asks, not turning away from the television, where someone hysterically cries, as someone is pushed down a large flight of stairs. God did people actually watch that garbage.

See You in TherapyWhere stories live. Discover now