December 31st
Hey it's Alex here, (I don't know who I'm saying Hey to)
So I just shared with Tamara my entire life story and lets just say she is raiding the hospital for tissues. Now I don't want to sound like I am exaggerating my misery but just know that I am writing it as it is.
I've never tried this. Writing in a diary, it feels surprisingly calming. As though every time I write something, a part of my weighted sorrow is releasing. Anyway, ahead I attempt to summarise my life, or in Tamara's words; provide a recount in the form of short memories of what brought me to this miserable point in my existence.
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The First Christmas Eve I Can Remember
"Mum, am I on the naughty list this year?"
"No, Dear God Alexandra, why would you think such a thing. Remember, we don't speak of any such lists. Santa does not exist. Christmas is the celebration of baby Jesus' birth, remember"
"But Mum, my friends at school told me that Santa leaves them presents every Christmas and that on Christmas eve they leave out stockings and food that Santa will come and eat. If they are good they get presents. If they are naughty then-"
"Alexandra! What did I tell you about Santa. He is simply a myth, made up by bad people who don't have faith. Christmas is a celebration of Jesus' birth. NOW REPEAT AFTER ME!"
"Christmas is--," Quietly sobbing, "A celebration--." More sobs followed by uncontrollable hiccups, "--of Jesus' birth."
"There, now that's my good girl. Wipe those tears before Dad gets home, you know he doesn't like to see you cry."
I was seven years old. My mother was a devout Catholic, who successfully held up the pretense of being a responsible and caring mother when the neighbours raised eyebrows about why my hairs was cut jaggedly and my eyes were always moist and red, the days that I did show up to school. But when the doors were closed, she reduced herself to a sad and desperate alcoholic who was slave to the bottle.
I don't blame her, it's the way she was brought up. I blame myself for always challenging her, being the pain in her side that refused to subside. Always questioning her teachings and comparing them against those of my teachers and friends. I was to blame.
The Day My Dad Left
"Daniel, just take your bloody daughter with you. I can't bear to even look at her."
My mum's alcoholism was worse than ever and my dad refused to tolerate her verbal and mental abuse any further. He wanted to forget everything. Forget that he was ever married to a woman named Vicky and that he had daughter, aged 13 who desperately needed him.
"Dad please don't leave," I whispered as he lugged his packed suitcase to the door. I was afraid she would hear me and then punish me for being awake at this hour of the night. But there was no response from his end. Just a sympathetic look and a fear in his eyes that if he didn't leave now, he wouldn't be able to escape the destructive force that was my mother.
Again I didn't blame him, I understood that fear. It was my fault that I couldn't make him love me more than he hated her. I couldn't make him love me enough that he would take me with him. Once again, I was to blame.
The Day I Left
"Mum, I love him!"
"Oh yeah, well I loved your dad and you saw how that worked out!"
"But it's different with Levi, he cares about me."
"Oh he cares about me...How sweet! It's just more nonsense that he is feeding you! You just wait till the day he gets you pregnant, pretends like he will support you and your child and then walks out because he can just wash his hands clean. Meanwhile you will be stuck with size 18 maternity pants and a bloody child that won't stop crying!"
Her words rung true and resonated within me. But I was stubborn, after all I took after my dad. If he was stubborn enough to leave, so was I.
"Mum if you hadn't noticed, I am not an abusive alcoholic who pretends to keep a good house and attends church every Sunday to be absolved of the unforgivable sins she commits during the week. I AM NOT YOU!"
With that my eighteen year old self shut the door to her old life, walking hand in hand with Levi who had shown her a promise of forever. Unaware that what lay ahead was a forever that she had could never have even imagined.
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Physically writing all this down is much harder than just sharing it with TED. For some strange reason the presence of a real human helps, so I will continue writing this tomorrow. I am not emotional and I don't have any self pity, I just feel completely drained.
///Hey anyone reading this, it is first time I'm trying this whole POV thing, I don't know if it works or if it's any good to read but please let me know what you think, if anybody is still reading this. I would appreciate any feedback, even if its harsh. THANKS :)///
YOU ARE READING
The Diary Of A Chubby Girl
Teen Fiction"The day I was born, stars shot down to earth, planets fell out of alignment, the world stopped revolving and destiny ran for its life." My name is Tamara Eloise Daley but you can call me TED. I like to think that I had this impact on the world, bu...
