Hate The Wall, Love The Builder

No human being is all good or all bad. We all have our good sides and bad sides, good moods and bad moods. Even me. (Audience gasps.) I have the most horrible temper. I’ve put holes in our walls, smacked my dad in the face, I almost kicked my brother in a really horrible place once, but decided not to. (He always says he hates and doesn’t want children, and if he accidently has kids, I can let them be his punishment. I can’t let him have the joy of children by disabling him.)
I’m afraid I’ve portrayed my mother in a rather unappealing light. She wasn’t bad all the time. It’s not as if she was completely lacking merriment. She’s real pretty, with brown hair (dyed blond, I might add. She’ll probably deny her brunette-ness if asked) and these lovely blue eyes. (I have my father’s eyes.) She’s really short, 5’3″, which I’m guessing was amusing to the family back then. (Adam and I have her height. Maybe lacking a few inches.) I don’t know squat about her personality, but I’ve been told that she could be real nice. She was good about buying stuff. (Maybe a little too good. She went and bought herself a new car out of my dad’s bank account-they weren’t married, so there was no joint account-and that caused a huge argument.) She loved reading, writing, artsy stuff. (I always wondered where I got that from. I’ve never seen my dad read a book in my entire life.) She had all these annoying-yet cute-little quirks.
She loved us all, a whole lot. The alchohol just made her think she didn’t. After I was born, I was apparently her new favorite. (Only because I couldn’t talk yet.) She was devestated when all of us got taken from her. She used anger to cover it up. She puts up this wall, and it seperates the “us” and the “her.” The “us” side is constantly attacked verbally or ignored by her, because she wants us to believe she doesn’t care. The “her” side is secretly depressed, but she has those self-destructive outlets that mask her despair. That wall, it just creates space and makes it impossible to come to an understanding. She controls the wall; no matter how many times our side has tried to knock it down, she just builds it again, and a lot stronger than before. Soon, if something doesn’t happen, the wall will be permanent and we won’t be able to communicate through it.
I have a sometimes amazing mother. It’s that wall I’m not too crazy about.

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