The Drama Queen

   Last Thursday was very unexpected. To make a long story short, I ate for the first time in four days - some pudding and 2 strawberries. My father asked me, "Are you eating again?" Screw this, I thought, going into the kitchen, dropping what was left of my last strawberry and running upstairs. Go into my room, take blade, go into the bathroom, lay down on the cold floor. Mother knocking at the door, "Get out! I want to talk to you!" "Well, I do not want to!" I said and cut. And again and again. Superficial cuts, I must admit. Mother leaves. I get out. Put the blade back. Call boyfriend. "So what if he asked you if you were eating again," he said, ignoring the "[..]the first time in four days" bit. Fine, dearest. I start crying, he does not notice. I hang up, start crying loudly; but trying not to make much noise. Mother comes in. "GET OUT!" "But why are you crying?" "Don't come in!" Fear surrounds me. "But -- I want to talk to you!" "I told you to get out! I don't want to talk!" "I can't do this anymore! I'm dying here!" Runs out, starts crying and yelling. Oh poor thing.
   Father comes in. "What is your problem, huh? I'm sick of everything. I'm sick of your shit. What right do you have to yell at your mother? Who do you think you are? A girl who hasn't eaten since Sunday and is a bit offended when you ask her if she's eating again. Talk to me!" "I do not want to talk to you." "Oh, you do. You better do." "I do not." *Other shit he yelled at me which I can't remember* "These are things you learned from your friends, right? Those friends of yours." He gets out. Slams the door. Mother crying: "Do not mention that [food, eating, eating habits] to her, ever!" Dad: "But what the fuck is her problem?"
   I cry and cry and cry. Mother comes in, crying. "I'm leaving. I have always loved you" "Ok, farewell." I like being mean to her. I like being mean to stupid people in general. And she left. I call my therapist. Once, twice, she does not answer. She calls me back. I tell her everything. She calls my mom, what time was it, 11 pm? She calls me back. "She is just taking a walk, she'll come back when she's feeling better." "Oh, okay. Thank you."
   Drama queen. You failure. You even fail at leaving, you fail at being a total bitch. You whining and crying and complaining loser. We didn't talk to each other the next day. Saturday was okay. Today was fine. Still, stupid bitch.
   She always has to come in and say something. It was my and my father's argument. Mine and his. She wasn't even there! Me and my father usually make up quickly, in a non-verbal non-anything way. Things just go back to normal. She, she's a fake.
   I wanted to run away on Friday. Went to some place for an hour, just to see if anyone would call. I had everything planned out. Grandma calls. I don't answer, she calls dad. Dad calls. I don't answer, he calls mom. Mom calls. I don't answer, she calls therapist. Therapist calls. I answer. "She's alright," she'd tell to my mother. As I get back home, my dad would glare and ask me, "Where have you been?" "You said you were sick of my shit, and seeing how the only thing you see in me is shit, I just thought you were sick of me and thought I'd do you a favor and never return home." My plan was perfect! All the little details.