Chasing Matters

Oh

Just as I said. 2 out of 3 things. So far at least. That surprised me, so I wouldn't be that surprised if I were to get the belt afterwards. I start crying, and thoughts come flooding in. If I could describe the way my head felt, it'd have to be logically compared to a hurricane. Thoughts crashing around like wind, emotions posing as the trees snapping under the intense mile per hour winds, and my sanity posing as the people--scared as hell.

I wanted to hate her. At that moment, I wanted more to run away and just start a new life, but I knew that wouldn't last long. The frustration becomes visible to my mom, and she calls me out on it. "What's wrong? You have to learn. You're not learning with me, so it might be better for you to have a change of scenery."

I knew it wasn't going to like it there. I knew he had a wife, meaning I have a step mom I probably will hate. I barely know him, and he hasn't really ever been in my life. I'll miss my brother. "Mom, why would this help? I don't know anything about him, and it's the same for me. I love my school and my classes. I'm starting to do really well compared to what I had going on before." She thought about it and it almost looked like what I said had been making sense to her. That's the first. "Rin-," I cut her off. "Mom, honestly it's the things you say that throw me off. Why would I go be with my dad when he has a new family, and you mention quite often that I'm 'just like him?'"

I slide down in my chair and wait for her response. Yet again, she has her thinking cap on, and things are starting to add up to her. Or so I hope. "Look at how good I am doing in school. I want to join the military, mom! I'm doing so well in there that I'm actually happy I'm going to school and I'm doing my work and making all A's. Mom, you can't beat that." She remains quiet. I think about another point I can prove, so I can save my own ass. It takes a minute of silence, but she finally speaks up before I do. "What are you going to do differently then? If I don't make you go to your dad's, what's going to change?"

I thought about therapy. I thought about the gun. I thought about that previous night and how I wouldn't want to live that way. I opened up to her a little bit more, but this time I looked dead into her eyes. "Mom, I hated being locked up. I missed you and my brother every second of the day, and although I knew that we would argue and you would say something to hurt my feelings when I got back, I STILL wanted to be here. I don't want to be there, and honestly, jail is not for me. Pardon my French, but I refuse to go back there and I refuse to just keep getting arrested and showing my brother how shitty I can be. I don't want him doing what I did. It's not for me and it won't be for him. I hurt someone last night, mom. He hurt me and I just remembered how much anger I have inside, and I just kept fighting him. That's where these cuts and bruises came from. Because the second he hit me, it felt like all the times I've been arrested and the times I had been smacked, and all the rage I have yet to release, had decided to gang up on me. And when I realised that I nearly killed him, I stopped and prayed. That isn't your thing or mine, I know, but it made me realise that I'm not fighting, and I'm sure as hell not getting myself back to jail." Her posture seemed to ease, but I knew she was having a hard time believing me. I've said things like this before, but it was obvious that I meant every word I said, which made her take notice.