How We Grew

August 21- 28

Dear diary, doc, whoever. 21, August 2012

Well it is just decent to introduce myself. My name is Chanel Torres García and I am pushing 16. Myself, my twin brother, and my mom live in a small apartment in San Francisco, Mission District, ever since my father passed when I was thirteen.

Uhm, what else... yeah, so I am apparently to track my mood changes now, because my doctor suspects I suffer from bipolar disorder, since the treatment for depression failed. I will do just that. I will write about my days. But at least I'm alive, I guess.

Today I woke up to the main door to our apartment banging shut, and a screeching scream repeating my name and on and on. I didn't even get a chance to sit up in my bed, when my door slammed open smashing into the wall with the obnoxious loudness of an atomic bomb. At least for someone who just woke up, it was just that loud. As I managed to get my back straight and look in the direction of the noise, I saw a colorful something approaching my face, and hit me across the face, right under my eyes. Once I realized there are no more blows incoming, I opened my eyes and looked directly at my assailant, or ... whatever, my mother. Without missing a beat and allowing even a breath she started screaming at me, at accusing me of being a spineless waste like my father. Once she allowed me a second to not focus on her, I realized it is because of the contents of the envelopes that slapped me across the face just now. They were thick and had a big A4 format, so I figured they were admittance letters. Upon a closer look, I realized both envelopes were torn up rather haphazardly and unevenly. After putting all these pieces of information together I was fully awake. I was trying to get up and out of bed to tell Nicolas what happened. But by then my mother made her way to the bed and jolted me up and into the wall and started interrogatingly asking me.

- You know I really don't appreciate you tearing up my post like that. It's ugly that way and you know how I am. –

- Oh, I know how you are. A has been, should been. Buried along with your father. Useless drunk that he was. –

- He was not a useless drunk! He was sober for seventeen years before he died you fucking harpy. –

- I've had it with you. He was a train wreck and of course you idiots listened to his preaching about dreams and talent and being on stage instead of being realistic and saving all that time, effort, and money for something useful. Now you're continuing even more drama and bullshit and getting us into even more debt. –

- No, I'm not, but I guess you're too dense to understand that. We both qualified for a full scholarship, so we don't need to pay a dime. But that's irrelevant, because I look like dad. Such a useless drunk, then why marry him, I will never understand. –

- None of your business. –

- What's none of your business, is that she is being slammed in a wall right now. Let her go. – Nicolas coughed from the doorstep –

- Yes, let her go. Because honestly, I could care less about your input anymore. You're pathetic and blame everything on dad. He got clean. He led an honest life and took care of us. Just because you didn't agree with his ways of doing so, doesn't mean he was a bad father. He wasn't. –

- Wasn't he now? Interesting of you to say, you will end up in a ditch just like him. –

- I sure hope so because all you do is scream, scold and bitch and moan. We worked hard for this admittance and we're not wasting it. We'll make it through and improve. And you will not get to see it. Either way I am done being put down like this. I'm old enough to have enough cognitive function to decide whether I will accept this offer or not. And I will. If you support me great, if not step out of my way before I run you over. – I protested, grabbing the envelopes and I felt each cell in my fingertips come to life with vibration -