Misanthropy

(n) hatred, dislike, or distrust of humankind

Parents.

They never learn.

Don't they get the fact that the more they complain about how obnoxious we are, the more we get worse? It's a reverse psychology thing. I, as an example, work very well with reverse psychology. My parents are smart. But somehow, this whole "dealing-with-your-children" thing just doesn't seem to click with them. I was a perfect daughter. And I had a picture-perfect life. You see what I did there?

Smart.

Anyway, there my mom was, ranting on how much "help" we were around the house. I was planning to wait on one of my favourite dishes which was still being cooked but then I got fed up and took whatever was in front of me and chowed it down faster than usual. Then I left the table and said that I was gonna fix my room. Truth, yes. But my eyes were already stinging and I didn't wanna end up strangling someone to death. I'm brutal in my head like that. So I went up to my room and changed the bed covers. Then I took the vacuum and drowned out all other noises. Once I was done, I went back down to wash the dishes. It was my job, after all. Call me the dishwasher.

I heard my grandma tell my mom, "They're all silent when you're mad."

And my mom agreed.

But my mind was all: "Oh please! It just got a billion times worse in here! Noisier than the whole population of China screaming at the top of their lungs!"

Of course I was exaggerating.

I strained to hear reality over my own chaotic thoughts. However, the harder I tried to drag my head back down to earth, the more my feet dug into the cold-tiled floor and the farther my head flew into outer space. I was over-thinking. I had a habit of doing that, y'know? Overthinking until I made myself sad. So sad I end up mocking everything I could possibly think of. Until suddenly, I managed to fit a dozen swear words in a sentence with my mouth shut. No shit. Geez, if anyone heard my thoughts, I'd wish for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I mean, there's no need to drag anyone into my own personal hell-hole. Right? Right?!

I was too preoccupied with my reverie that I didn't even catch what my grandma was telling me.

"I said, what do you want for lunch tomorrow?" She repeated, seeing as how I was unattentive.

"Anything." I shrugged. My thoughts were clashing with and dicing at one another. Lunch for tomorrow was the farthest thing from my mind.

"I'm afraid I don't know the recipe to a dish called Anything." She chuckled.

I smiled at her. At least she was trying to ease the tension.

Unlike my mom. She's in one of those crappy moods today.

So I decided to go upstairs again and do my newfound favourite hobby ever since we got here: vegetating in my room. But then I found my brother Jake playing "table tennis." He was using a mini-ball and a cardboard shaped like a table-tennis racket. He saw me and motioned for me to join him. He was younger but waaay taller than me. That's just how guys are.

"Oh cool." I laughed as he handed me a rectangular case.

"Use that." He grinned then served.

I missed every single shot he fired and I was getting a bit frustrated in a funny way. I was finally able to hit the ball but it bounced off the wall with a loud thud.

"Aaah! That's it. I suck at this!" I laughed, screeching in a high-pitched voice and walking out of the room. Jake just laughed and practiced with the wall instead.

I missed this.

The fun. The laughter. Everything I was robbed off of ever since we started this new life. I did say I was a perfect daughter. I had high grades. I was cheerful. I belonged to a particular social group. I was recognized. My parents were proud of me. They didn't rub my mistakes in my face.

Unlike now.

When they told us about moving, I tried my best to be strong. I told them how I felt about it and how maybe I could spend one more year just to graduate. See, in my home country, it's only up to 10th grade. And now that we're here, I'm stuck with an additional two years. Don't get me wrong, I love Canada. It's wonderful and perfect. But it's not home. Not yet at least. So back to what I was saying, I told them about how I felt and I ended up getting my emotions trampled on. It was harsh. Almost everything I knew was bound to disappear at that time. I remember locking up in my room and crying my heart out in the dark silence. I was careful so they didn't hear. I saw a Sharpie and guess what I did? I drew squiggles on my wrist so hard the black mess was outlined with blotchy red marks. Yeah, I had suicidal thoughts. But I've never placed myself in any dangerous situation before. Lame-o doodling on my wrist was as far as I could get. I wasn't that desperate. And I was weak. I couldn't even bring a blade close to my wrist. It's just that I can't. And if I can't, I won't.

Now as an 11th grader, I'm completely stretched out thin. Maybe not completely but pretty close. I'm still hanging on even if it meant being a pain in the ass. Hey, it's a dog eats dog world out there, right?

Coz on a scale of 1 to 10 on how misanthropic I feel right now, it's a 20. It's been a 20 for quite a while now.

Oh well.