Dearest,
Bruh.
Bruh moment.
My life is a fucking bruh moment.
It kinda hurts to write because I had to bandage my hands a bit, so I don't know how detailed this is going to be. Plus if you find blood on the page, don't panic.
It doesn't hurt that much.
But like, ow.
Most of my day was ok, Peggy was Peggy, Alex was super fucking hot and the dicks were just dicks. Nothing especially bad.
I stayed behind after school to work a bit on my art project, because of the whole I cant plan anything and I'm behind by too much thing. So Martha picked up the small ones and took them home, and I was about an hour-ish (and a bit) late home.
I tried my best to be quiet, and sneak home and through the door. It was very quiet.
That's always a bad sign.
My siblings were nowhere to be found. There's normally only one occasion where they're completely quiet and out of the way, and that means my dad's drunk.
Of course he was.
I saw him, just sitting there, surrounded by empty bottles and a half finished one in his hand. He just had this dazed look on his face dearest. Like he wasn't even there. Like he wasn't even conscious, like he isn't even human.
It made my entire body convulse.
I took off my shoes, and my bag, and I placed them down quietly. He hadn't even noticed me yet.
I walked towards him, slowly, trying to keep my calm, but he never even glanced at me once. He just kept staring into space like a possessed person. Maybe it would make sense if he was possessed. That would explain all his behaviour after mom died. He just snapped, like a different person.
"Dad." I said, but he didn't look at me. "Dad!" He finally turned to look at me, his entire body reeking of alcohol. "Give me the bottle." I held out my hand. He stared at me.
I repeated myself, making a small grabbing notion. He looked lazily at me, and suddenly the bottle crashed into my hand, breaking everywhere and into my hand.
Of course I fucking yelled a bit. How could I not? It hurt. My hand, most of it started bleeding.
"Dad what in the actual fuck?!" I yelled at him, looking in a sort of shock horror at my hand. I suppose since you're a diary you have no idea of the fear of that moment. I can't describe it. All of my body kind of just didn't. There was glass sticking out of my hand. That's fucking scary.
And it was bleeding too, there was blood seeping out of the fucking glass. It was awful.
"Do you know how proud I was," He slurred at me, ignoring my yelling, "when I found out Eleanor was pregnant?" I paused. "My first child. My eldest son. The one to carry on the bloodline, my pride and joy. My first born. My smaller me. It was our love, together. Our love had made someone. And I was so happy. So proud. My eldest son. Firstborn." He stares off into space as he says this, as if he's not even here. "And then I got..." He trails off slightly, searching for the word, frowning.
He finally looked at me, and just said "You."
Dearest, I have never heard that much disgust in a word. That much shame. Disappointment. Sadness. Anger. Loathing. It looked like it hurt him to even say.
I have never hurt more in my entire life.
I just stared at him.
My hand was bleeding as was in incredible amount of pain, and it felt like my heart had just been pulled out of my chest. It physically hurt there.
It felt as though it had been ripped out of me, and that I would just collapse to the floor and die.
I felt it all through my body, and my body felt hollow. Especially the place where your heart is supposed to beat. There was no movement. He has my heart in his hand, and he broke it clean in two.
I couldn't do anything but stare. I didn't say anything. I just turned and left.
I kept a straight face. I said no words.
I walked upstairs, I went into the bathroom.
I cried. I cried a lot. I sobbed. I let myself go. I just cried. I was careful not to disturb anyone else. But I just cried.
I had to take the glass out of my hand. I picked them all out, one by one. It hurt so much, and I just kept crying, and that annoying breath thing where you can't even breathe.
I screamed slightly at the larger, deeper pieces as I tugged them out of my flesh. My hand bled a lot now.
His words were still in my head. His word was still in my head.
You.
Me.
Disappointment.
I just let everyone down.
I know.
The word made me feel sick. Pulling pieces of glass out of my bare skin made me feel sick.
I threw up. Lucky I was in the bathroom. It was awful.
I almost didn't make it, even though the toilet was just right there.
Martha came in then. I feel so sorry for her sometimes. She's only 14.
She gasped. She just put her hands to her mouth and gasped.
"Jackie are you ok?" She whispered, her voice shaking so much I thought she could shatter.
"I'm fine." I sobbed, even though there was blood soaked glass in the sink, my hand was more blood than skin, I had just thrown up and I was crying so hard that I couldn't actually say the words 'Im fine', it was just an incomprehensible sob.
She cried too. I felt so bad then. I'm such a burden. I made her cry too.
She came and sat next to me. She held me. She just held my head while I cried.
She held my hair back when I threw up again.
She helped me clean my hand, clean up the blood, disinfect it, bandage it. Maybe I should have gone to the ER. But I'd have to come up with a story.
And I cried some more.
She held my head to her chest and ran her fingers through my hair, just like mom used to. She told me calming things and shushed me. "It's ok." She whispered, "You're ok."
Alex reminds me of her sometimes. They're both so gentle.
Like fairies, or broken spirits.
I need to be so gentle around them in case I break them.
"Martha." I cried, "Am I that much of a burden?"
"No." She said immediately. "No you aren't. You are not a burden. At all. I am so glad you're my brother."
"Am I not pathetic?"
"Having emotions is ok." She whispered. "You're allowed to cry."
She looks like mom too. She has her hair, her soft blonde hair, and her gentle brown eyes. Sometimes I look at her and I see my mom.
I wonder if before she died, before she ended herself, she put a little bit of herself in Martha just so she could stay with us?
Maybe she didn't want to leave. Maybe she wanted to stay.
I'll never know.
And that destroys me.
Only yours,
Jackie
