Florescent Adolescent

Everything was bottling up. The pressure of being the perfect brother, and being the comedic relief of the gang was piling up. It keeps on piling, and piling, and piling up to the point where it feels like I'm drowning. You know when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out. It’s called voluntary apnea. It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding. Then when you finally do let it in, it stops hurting. It’s not scary anymore. It’s actually… kind of peaceful.

That's been my life lately. Spiraling into a downwards hill, and the people I love are being hurt left and right. Everything is turning to shit, and the worst part is I can't do anything about it. People always expect me to be that goofy guy who doesn't let anything bother him. Cracking jokes and smiling even though everything is the opposite from fine on the inside. The stress is piling up, and I feel like screaming but I have to keep my sanity for the sake of everyone. No one knows how it is behind closed doors. That's when the panic attacks hit me. They're either a hit or miss, really. I can be cool as an ice cube one minute, and the next the drowning feeling comes. I can't breathe, and the world around me blanks out. My throat numbs, and my body prevents me from feeling anything besides that state of panic. I'm reaching for that breath of fresh air, and my body won't allow me to do it until my head is seconds away from exploding.

"Two-Bit? Are you okay?"

Turning my head at her, I plastered on that smile. The smile assuring everyone around me that I'm fine. Totally and perfectly fine. Blair's lips were pressed together in concern, and the last thing she needed was to be worried about her big brother.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Besides from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant overwhelming feeling that something terrible is about to happen. It's not just a feeling, I'm drowning, Blair Bear. Everything just keeps on getting worse and worse. Everything's turning to hell." I said, flashing a smile at her.

Her blue eyes flashed with concern, and I know that's what she didn't expect. She expected me to be fine just how I always am, but it just came out. Everything came out, but to be quite honest that was nothing compared to everything else bubbling over the surface. Blair being Blair, didn't have much to say. Her expression was pained.

"If you're going though hell keep going." Blair said, without saying anything else she left the kitchen making her way upstairs.

I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to tell her that she doesn't understand, and will most likely never understand. She's the youngest, and the youngest always gets what she wants. Blair or Audrey will never understand what it feels like to be responsible for everyone else since a young age. None of them will ever understand that, and sometimes I want to disown myself. I want to leave town without a dime in my name and just run. Run to a big city without ever looking back.

It was a Tuesday when she first got diagnosed. It was merely a year and a half ago when it was the beginning. No one wanted to face the music, and admit that she was dying. I had to hold everything together, and still have that grin on my face. I was dying, and it almost as if I was the sick one, not mom. The following events were nothing, but disaster. She spent more and more time in the hospital, and there were days when we thought she was going to die. We all thought she was going to die peacefully in her sleep. It would be blissful. After all of her bullshit and putting on her brave face God would give her a chance, and let her die in peace.

While mom was in the hospital, it was just Freddy, Audrey, Blair, and I. The four of us trying to manage without the glue of the family. We were ripping at the seams living in the same house as an alcoholic junky who wasn't our father. He was close to it, because they both enjoy drinking and taking their anger out on everyone around them. 

She stayed in the hospital for three weeks one time. No one wanted to admit it that it was her time to go, but in the pit of my stomach I knew that it was going to happen. It was just the two of us. Blair and Audrey were with Bre and Maddie. I always told them to stay far away from the house especially with Freddy supposedly looking after the three of us. As soon as I opened the front door from school, chaos began.

He sat on dad's chair. Not any other chair in our makeshift living area, but dad's chair. He was drinking from his almost empty bottle of Jack, and without a care in the world words started sputtering out of his grotesque lips. 

"It's you. It's all you. You know everyday I see her on that hospital bed slowly dying, and I keep on thinking how the hell am I supposed to raise this stupid kid on my own? The other two I don't mind, but you. This hyperactive little bastard who keeps on ruining my life. It's all yooooou. It's you, Two-Bit. You're killing your mother, you hear me? You're killing her, and now you're killing me." He spat at me.

He slowly got up and with his empty glass bottle, he hurled it at my head. Glass shattering everywhere, and I didn't cry. All that hurt the most were his words, everything he said was right. Every god damned word. I didn't mean to cause her so much stress, and part of me convinced my naive sixteen year old self that I made dad walk out. I have always been that hyperactive little bastard who uses comedy as his only defense. 

Leaving me on the carpet with glass shards on my skin, and blood oozing out of my scalp he left. It wasn't the first time he took his intoxicated anger out on me, but the words cut deeper than the glass shards. No son wants to hear that they're killing their own mother. No child ever wants to hear the ugly truth. The years of all the pretty lies, and the ugly truth my family never wants to hear about. 

Even now I don't understand anything. I want to be like Blair. I want to be oblivious to all of the pain around me, and keep smiling for no apparent reason. I want to be anyone else, but me. Rubbing my temples I went upstairs, and the constant nagging voice inside my head kept telling me to move out and never look back. I don't want to be one of those people. Actually, I don't want to be like my dad to be more specific. I don't want to be that coward who runs away when the going gets tough. I'm slowly killing myself with the stress of my shattered family. We used to be so loving and wholesome, but behind that perfect family picture hanging up in the hallway, the family of all smiles are all dying on the inside. Dead, but smiling for the sake of everyone around them.

~~~~
"Dad used to... touch Blair." Audrey said, touching my hand tears welling up in her bright blue eyes.

No. Never. He might have been and still be an overworked abusive alcoholic, but he'd never do that. Never to his own children. He's not that type of person. Nope.

"No." Was all I could manage to stay in the mess of thoughts inside my head.

"Why would I lie about that, Keith?!" Blair cried, her voice cracking and glistening tears running down her freckled porcelain face.

"BECAUSE HE WOULDN'T!" I shouted, unable to process the harsh reality.

Blair and Audrey's mouths were open wide, and they didn't say anything else. My hands were shaking, and I wanted to keep my cool. I wanted to be the cool funny older brother I always am, but I felt a banging in my chest. I felt my head spinning, and the banging soon turned into a suffocating feeling. My vision began to blur, and the splitting headache took place.

I knew the feeling. The feeling I get every night due to the constant stress. I didn't want my two little sisters to see me become undone, and in a vulnerable state. I couldn't control my involuntary actions, but I was drowning. My lungs felt like they were made out of iron making it difficult to gasp for air, and my vision soon became even more blurred. My ears closed out, and I was unable to feel anything besides disappointment. Disappointment in not only myself, but my family.

It didn't even feel like a panic attack by this point. I felt like I was dying when the numbness in my limbs took place. It sort of felt like I was in one of those dreams that everyone has. Your toes curl around the edges of that cliff, and you just jump. You're free falling, and you have no idea why. Doctors say it's stress related, but during that particular moment I would be better off dead. I hoped my lungs would never open again, and I would just die right then and there. Some might say it's cowardly to think like that, but I've never had a break. I've never had a break in about twelve fucking years. Blair and Audrey always look up to me, but I'm no better than my own father.

I remember the nights he would come down from the attic, and into my bedroom. No, he never touched me like that, but he did touch me in more ways than one. He would stumble down into my room, and start hurling things at me. His breath always reeked of that whiskey, and he'd laugh when I'd always cry out "daddy stop!"

He got enjoyment watching his oldest crumble. It first started when I was four, and ended when he left. Then when he left I thought I was safe until mom's boyfriend did the same thing. Why am I always the target? I have countless scars across my body from both dad and Freddy from the beatings I took instead of my sisters. That's what I always get for being the nice guy. The countless times I would get hit with empty alcohol bottles and belts. I never wanted to watch Blair or Audrey take beatings so me being me always took them for them. They never watched dad hit me until the point where I couldn't breathe, because if I ever cried the beatings would last longer.

I was deteriorating. I was deteriorating right in front of my two little sisters, and I didn't want them to see anymore. I ran out of the room hurling towards the bathroom immediately locking the door behind me. The bathroom and Blair's room are the only rooms in the house that actually has a lock. My chest heaved, and silent tears streamed down my face. I reached my breaking point. I was beyond my breaking point, I am broken beyond repair.

Staring at the virtual reflection of myself in the mirror I felt sick to my stomach. Not because of my appearance, but more or less just everything going on. I'm supposed to be the rock for my sisters. I'm supposed to be the one that they can count on, and look at me. I ran away from my problems, and they're left outside of the bathroom door dazed and confused.

I couldn't stand that reflection. I couldn't stand my reflection for the mere reason I look like my father. I hate looking like him, and I'm afraid that maybe in five years or more I'll turn into him. I have no grasp on my life, and the only person who has been keeping me sane all along is Kitty. My blue eyes looked cold in the reflection, and gasping for air my fist hurled into the mirror. Glass shards everywhere. Blood oozing out of my knuckles, and as I picked up one of the many broken glass pieces I stared at my reflection once again.

Disgusting. Absolutely repulsive. My mind went on auto-pilot, and my usual optimistic thoughts were replaced with dark pessimistic thoughts.

You're disgusting.

I couldn't bare it anymore. I couldn't face the music, and the blood running from my hands didn't really bother me. It was the least of my problems. I wanted to have an escape from the constant anxiety. The constant overwhelming feeling that something bad is going to happen, and for once in my life I won't be able to fix it. It's like everything is sliding through my fingers. Kind of like a little kid reaching for that cookie jar, and they're so close they could practically taste the cookie, but at the same time it's so far away from their reach. I'm that little kid, and my life is the cookie jar.

My heart rate felt like it was sky rocketing, and I just wanted everything to stop. My family, the gang, myself, everyone. I can't do this anymore. I try to save all of the broken people around me, but I'm the one that really needs the saving.

"Mommy, please don't go." Blair pleaded.

Her face dropped, and tears welled up in her bright blue eyes as mom left to go to work. 

"It's alright, Bear. Daddy's going to watch after us tonight." I assured her.

She then became quiet, and didn't say anything else for the rest of the night. She is always like this. Once mommy leaves she becomes silent. Well, only when daddy's around. Other than that she talks to Audrey and I. Maybe she knows about how daddy hits me all the time, and she doesn't want to say anything about it. 

"Come on. Let's get you washed up."

"Tibby, do you think I can sleep in your bed tonight?"

"Why?"

"Nevermind."

And with that I helped her upstairs into the bathroom to run her bath. Wednesday nights. The nights mommy goes to her second job early, and comes home late. The nights where daddy watches after the three of us, and if we don't do what he says he gets angry. But, when he tries to beat up Blair or Audrey, I always take their beatings for them. I don't want to watch them get hurt, but daddy doesn't beat me until night time. 

"No," Was all I was able to repeat to myself.

Everything was linking together, and it cut deeper than the glass stuck in my skin.

His breath smelled bad. Kind of like rotten milk, but stronger. He came into my room barely able to walk, and I knew it was time. His belt was already off, and he began whipping me with it. Daddy soon put his belt down, and he instructed me to get on the floor. Then he began kicking me.

"Keith, Keith. Why can't you be like your sisters? Why can't you be more like Blair?" And with that he left my room, leaving me with welts covering my body and bruises sure to come.

He always came from the attic with his belt always off. Which is different from the different times of the day he beat me. At night he always smelled of whiskey, and his pants were always done, coming from the attic. I felt the sick rising in my stomach, and I didn't know how much more I could possibly take. Reaching for one of the glass pieces I knew exactly what I was about to do. I needed a pain outlet, and it seemed perfect. The glass made contact with my arm, and after that I blacked out.

Waking up dazed and confused on the bathroom floor with self inflicted injuries I knew exactly what happened. My past pieced together like pieces of a puzzle, and we were all suffering. Leaving the bathroom I knew nothing would ever be the same. Everything is broken just like the broken mirror in the bathroom. I went into my room to change my sweat and blood stained clothes, and I immediately went up into the attic. I crawled into her bed with her, and we said nothing. We felt bad for each other, and I felt bad for not protecting her all along. I felt disgusting, but I told my mind to shut the fuck up and we just slept. I didn't want to say anything about the anxiety, and everything else. I can't even tell Kitty, and as I shut my eyes I knew everything was broken forever.