nefelibata (n.) | ✔️

sixteen.

Present. October 6th, 2018.

I've had enough.

My mother's shouting has begun to deteriorate my mind. I feel like I'm in a dark cave with screams echoing through it, but I can't tell where it's coming from. Obviously, that would make any person go absolutely insane, and that's what it feels like living in a house with my mother.

With my father on his business trip, being alone with my mother is practically like signing my death certificate. Now I'm held up in my room, my head in my hands as I cry, crippled on the floor.

Crying isn't something I think fondly of. It takes a lot to let tears actually spill out of my eyes, let alone in a full-on panic attack.

I think my mother momentarily forgot that I was her daughter as she yelled at me all day today. I tried my best to please her with the long list of things she wanted me to do, but nothing seems to satisfy her anymore.

When she came home, I was still cleaning up after myself from making a bowl of soup. For some unknown reason, this made her go ballistic, screaming at me every insult that she could think of in a matter of seconds. From my grades to my hair to my clothes and back around. She even admitted to finding the notebook of poems I had been writing and saying how she was the one who threw it out because it was "too dark."

I looked for that book for nearly two weeks before finally giving up. Once she told me this, I snapped. The typical cracks at my "goth persona," as she likes to call it, didn't bug me anymore. I've become prone to it at this point, but when she admitted to destroying something that I had worked on for so long was too much for me to handle.

This woman, who is supposed to love me no matter what destroyed something that she had no right to. She was so disappointed in the things that I had created that she threw it away and lied straight to my face about it for months.

It's not that I had some deep emotional connection to a damn journal, but it's the fact that she was so disgusted and disappointed in my work that it brought her to trashing it.

So I sit here, legs tucked close to my stomach, crying over someone who is supposed to love you no matter what. Parents are supposed to be the people that love you more than anything in the world, so why was my mother the exact opposite?

I couldn't take the struggle of sitting here alone covered in tears knowing that my mother was right downstairs, probably sipping on wine and not giving a shit about the mess that was her daughter.

I know that my father told me to call him if something like this were to happen, but all I can think about are the docs. I need to go there, it's for my sanity. I don't mind the terrible weather, I don't care. I'll do anything to not be in the same house with my mother.

I ignore the terrifying sounds of the wind and rain thrashing against my window outside and pull on my black converse. I open my balcony doors and let myself go out them in a hurry, leaving my better judgment behind and going down the stairs quickly.

I pull the hood of my jacket over me and let my feet carrying me to the only place that I feel safe, even in weather conditions like these. The wind rips the hood right off of my head, and I see no point in trying to pull it back on. The loud claps of thunder almost convince me to turn around, forget about my nutjob of a mother, and go to sleep but I just can't. I see no other way of easing my pain than going to the place that does it for me.

The dark sky keeps me company as the rain hits my face. I just know that I look like a mess. I bet the black streaks on my face are absolutely horrific and my puffy eyes from the crying for over two hours is almost laughable. From the change in scenery, I can feel myself getting closer to the waterfront. I didn't realize I had been walking long enough to already be at Lenny's coffee shop. Knowing how close I am to the waterfront, I push through the pain of the hard rain hitting my face and run as fast as I can.