Dear Diary

Pink Daffodil

Dear Diary,

Here's what happened today.

❁ ❁ ❁

After a long few moments of regaining my composure, I slowly open my eyes. I sit up and glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. The bright screen reads, 12:05pm. My head was still groggy from my lack of just about everything. My small room had the strong scent of dirty smoke lingering, which was not ideal, but what more could I do about that?

The large window that looked out at our front yard had a lock on it due to me sneaking out one too many times. Though, I always found a way to get out of this suffocating house anyways. It wasn't like it was hard to do. My dad was either at work, the bar, or not paying any attention to me, and my mom was always working. Her office down the hall was almost never empty. If she wasn't at her job in the city, then she was in her office.

I just wish they cared about me as much as they cared about their own shitty lives. They are probably filled with regret. It's painfully obvious how much they wish they could take back. Every time my mom looks at me, I see something in her eyes die. Every time my dad looks at Mom, his eyes are empty and glazed with lies.

He wishes he wouldn't have married her. She wishes that she never would've made me. They want to take everything back, and I love it. While they look at me with regret, I make it my job to remind them that I was their biggest mistake that they can never take back.

I hear the garage door open, signaling that Dad was home. I sigh and slowly open my door, it creaking as a sign of its years of use. Just as I suspected, he was a wobbling and clumsy mess. He was drunk. Who gets drunk at this time of day? I shut my door and lay on my side under the covers of my bed. I laugh quietly to myself, wanting to hide the distress this always brings. I don't quite know who I'm trying to convince that this doesn't bother me.

His heavy footsteps make their way to my mom's office. I curse these thin walls, and I have the same conversation with myself again. I wish I had a phone and some headphones. Maybe then I'd do a better job at blocking out the yelling. I cover my ears tightly and hum quietly.

First, Mom starts screaming at him, presumably about coming home drunk. No, obviously about coming home drunk. Then, he comes up with some dumb excuse that never works, which leads to more yelling. I laugh as I uncover my ears. Today has not been my day, huh? It's funny how bad my luck is. I take off the blanket and sit up. I should be used to this by now. But damn, I need to get out of this hellhole.

I slip on some socks and sneakers before grabbing a large book off my nightstand. I take a deep breath and open the door. "Mom, I'm going to the park. Bye."

Neither of them even look at me, though, that's what I was hoping for. I quickly walk to the front door and head out, closing it behind me. I finally exhale. I look down at my arm, realizing I never cleaned off the now dried blood. However, I refuse to go back through that door.

The sun makes it's known high in the noon sky, despite the heavy, white clouds trying to block it out. By this time of year, its late summer, and the wildflowers scattered in everyone's lawns aren't looking as bright as they do during the end of spring. That dullness doesn't stop the view from looking serene, though. This is where I was born, and I'll live until I'm eighteen, and through the very rough patches of my life, I've grown to love this neighborhood. That thought seems to wear with each and every day that I exist here.

I breathe in deeply, letting the fresh outside air coat and cleanse my poor lungs. It was painful to watch as people walk by, each of them having different emotions encasing their faces, but all of them having one thing in common. They all seemed happy. I gripped the book tighter against my chest, attempting to push away the dark green envy that slowly crept its way into my empty heart. Or maybe it wasn't empty, but rather so full that I had no idea how to express any of it in a way that made sense. I just wish people could truly understand how I feel.