I was told to work early tomorrow so I decided to press Start->Shutdown on my body really early. I went to sleep at about 9 p.m. Besides, for some reason I felt really, really tired. Not from work, because it was really uneventful. Just made another cover (which absolutely rocked, if I do say so myself) and it’s corresponding column. You can check it out this wednesday if you read PH, it’s the cover to "Reacción". *grin*
And I don’t know why the fuck my boss now assumes my second name is "Marie". Does she suspect something I haven’t told her yet? I bet she does. She’s an intuitive little devil.
Anyway, back to the sleeping part. I didn’t feel physically tired, it was more like a spiritual exhaustion that I can’t quite explain.
I lie down, and 5 minutes after… BAM! Mommie Dearest (complete with psychotic 60’s diva attitude) barges into my room and throws me a bucketful of paranoia:
- Lillith: "Are you sick?"
- Me: (In a pissed off drone) "No. I just want to sleep. I have to work early tomorrow".
- Lillith: "Do you have something against us? Lately you only come from work and lock yourself up in your room or go hang out with your friends every weekend and you no longer talk to me or your father or your sister. Whatever it is that you’re planning to do to us is very, very wrong. You just don’t do that. It’s WRONG."
Oh. So it’s wrong to have a life?
This battle has gone on for years in my house. It always happens because of the same reason. Whenever I meet someone and decide to forge a relationship, my weekends and free time are completely devoted to that person. Hell, I’ve been living mith my parents for 24 years now, and whenever I decide to share a little of my time with someone special, the bitch-fest comes to town. And they always act like it’s the first time it happens.
I’ve always been hermetic and secretive with them, not because I choose to, but out of necessity. I don’t think they would enjoy it if I started talking to them about my fabulous boyfriend or to what awesome place we had dinner last night, so I resort to telling them I’m with "friends". Of course mother doesn’t swallow that crap, but she doesn’t investigate beyond that, because she knows about me, and I assume she does not want to hear any details about my "sinful, heathen lifestyle". My dad on the other hand, is either in denial, or he really believes I’m actually getting it on with my female friends, which all happen to be raging lesbians. Come on.
After my mother’s ill-timed intrusion (Goddamnit, what the hell made me forget to lock my door), Lucifer passes by asking what happenned. What’s amazing is that she doesn’t tell him what she was scolding me about, she just tells him that I have to go to sleep early. She still fears his reactions towards me, and refrains from giving him too many details about my behavior, as if "protecting" me from his rage. Which is totally stupid in this case, because he heard everything, obviously. This house is so damn acoustic, I can do an opera recital and be heard five blocks away.
Lucifer ignores her explanation and starts going off about me having mental problems and that I should go to a shrink.
Marvellous idea! If he ever tells me that face to face, this will be my answer:
"Sure. I’ll go. But only if you go with me. Not to drop me off, but on a double session. Just you and me, buddy."
Not only is that going to make him back him off (and probably make him dislike me even more), but if he agrees to that, maybe it will prove to be a very good chance to get some things out in the open. Like my fabulous new boyfriend, or the fact that I can’t have fucked with any of my lady friends, since I don’t have a vagina.
Now that I think about it, that would take a great deal of weight off my back and chest.
I have fantasized many, many times about having the freedom to go out and finally tell my parents: "Hey, I might be a little late, I’m going out with __ insert name of boyfriend here__ ."
I hate lying to people, and the fact that I have to do it at least weekly FOR THEIR OWN GOOD is greatly depressing. Many times have I seen myself tempted to drop the bomb on the remaining family member who does not really know me (Lucifer) but at this point in my life, and with his unpredictability, I could lose a lot if I do. That is why a shrink would be the perfect medium for me to do that. He or she would act as a buffer, and maybe get some sense into his fucking thick head and help him assess the situation like a real man, that is, if the shrink is skilled enough.
My mother found out about my "alternate life style" about 3 years ago, and ever since the initial shock went through (wich lasted a couple of weeks), she has not uttered a single word to me about it. Sure, she asks me who I’m going out with, where did I meet him, where am I going, etc., but I notice behind her eyes lie other questions, bigger questions, which she is either too ashamed or to cowardly to ask. I don’t push her, I let her deal with it her own way, one day or another she’ll get tired of all the bullshit and be more frank with me. In the meantime, I’ll keep telling her lies that are intentionally pretty obvious. If she decides to remain satisfied with those half truths, that’s her problem.
After the scene was over, I went to sleep with that bitterness inside. I slept for four hours before my slumber was inexplicably whisked away, and I woke up looking at the ceiling and thinking that I need to get the fuck out of this house.
Now I lie here writing this diatribe, hoping it will make me sleepy again, and that my mom and dad would be abducted by aliens overnight and be replaced with Stepford Parents.
