Father continued to disrespect Mother and everyone else in his path, displaying a stubbornness and ego as inflated as his voice. A temperamental man who found pleasure in the volume of his own voice, His abusive behavior seemed to be an ingrained pattern. Meanwhile, Jesse’s rebellious nature persisted, each baby she bore finding its way into a trashcan, her recklessness remaining unchecked. My dysfunctional family continued to permeate the air like a bad odor.
The struggle and tension were palpable, like a heavy blanket draped over the household, suffocating any chance of genuine happiness. Everyone played their part in the charade, grinning widely and forcing laughter that sounded more like a desperate plea for help than joy. It was clear that they were trying to present a semblance of normalcy—for my benefit, it seemed—but the cracks in their facade were impossible to ignore.
I was only home yesterday but I wanted to leave immediately.
And then there was Jesse, the black sheep of the family. Cast as the ‘bad one’ by our parents, Jesse’s rebellions were a testament to her desire for autonomy and self-expression, but they were also a symptom of her struggle to navigate the dysfunctional dynamics of our family. Her pain and anguish were real, but they were lost in the harsh and often violent discipline of our parents. I think what Jesse truly needed was for them to listen, to offer compassion and understanding, but all she received was condemnation and punishment.
Roxanne, seemingly perfect on the outside, harbored her own hidden struggles. Though she excelled in many areas, her frustrations with our family often manifested in passive-aggressive ways, particularly towards Mordecai. The youngest in the brood, Mordecai had been born into a maelstrom of dysfunction, but she had somehow learned to navigate its treacherous currents with a shrewdness beyond her years. While the family struggled to find peace, Mordecai proved to be an oasis of hope in the desert of our existence, a symbol of the potential for change.
Alone in the poorly-lit sitting room, the dilapidated sofa groaned under my weight as I lay half-broken, my thoughts taking me on a journey through the wasteland of my childhood. The demons of my past crowded around me, their bitter laughter ringing in my ears as I revisited my ugly memories.
The memories washed over me, They shaped me, chiseling away at my innocence until all that remained was a hardened shell of the child I once was.
In a twisted sort of way, the absence of my family almost felt like a relief.
Without them hovering over me, their presence a constant reminder of the past, I was free to pack my bags without the incessant patter of questions or accusing eyes.
The silence was deafening, but it was a welcome respite from the storm of emotions that had accompanied their presence.
The idea of booking a flight at this hour was bordering on madness, but then again, I was never one to conform to the norms of society. I had mastered the art of vanishing without a trace, leaving behind only a lingering scent of mystery and regret. But in that moment, as I sat alone in the shadows of my past, I realized that my departure wasn't fueled by hate, but rather by a deep, visceral pity that had taken root in the depths of my soul.
With a heavy heart, I closed the windows, shutting out the remnants of my childhood as effectively as I was shutting out the family I was leaving behind. A heap of cash, an offering of sorts, lay on the couch, a parting gift that would do little to ease the wounds of abandonment. Gathering my belongings, I breathed deeply, the stale air of the house a reminder of what I was about to leave behind.
“See you soon,” I whispered, a promise meant for my sisters, a promise that would stretch into twenty long years.
