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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

No one listens anymore

No one listens anymore. Everyone is stuck in a sea of their own thoughts and their own ideas about life. They don’t care what anyone else has to say and everything ends up being about them. I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying to make decisions that are for the best for me. Things are not going so well where I am right now and I really feel like… well I’m really alone. I look around and see my friends, all in their early twenties, who have fantastic relationships with their mothers. That era of teen angst is behind them and they’re turning over a new leaf. Why can’t I have that? It’s a constant struggle in my house. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home is a place where you are supposed to feel safe and welcome – like no one can harm you. But that’s not the case here. My dad is never at home to witness anything, so he just takes my mom’s side. Then when he goes to talk “with” me afterwards, he tells me that I was right, but I need to respect my mother.


Let’s define respect. Respect is, and I quote:

“Respect is both given and received. We expect other people to respect us in return for the respect we show them… Respect cannot be measured as a quantity, cannot be bought or traded; it is one of those things that is earned and built over time, but it can be lost with one stupid or inconsiderate act.”

Let’s take this apart, shall we?

Respect is both given and received. I don’t ever get respect. Ever. My father didn’t respect me when I told him about my dream of going to New York for college. So instead, I stayed at home, where he could control me. He splurged every cent that he didn’t have on a bunch of useless “investments,” as he calls them. Every single one of his stupid “investments” have fallen through. And I find it disrespectful how his nephew, who has been renting one of my father’s “investments” for years now, has not paid his rent in, oh I don’t know, about a year. And here’s the real killer. When he does actually pay the rent. He pays less than half of what he owes my father. He let’s his nephew and his home wrecker of a girlfriend (wife, but not legally) go by unscathed. He keeps saying that he’s going to kick them out one day, but we all now he won’t. I guess they’re more important than his daughter’s dream of being able to choose how her life goes after college doesn’t matter.

My sister doesn’t respect me; instead, she manipulates her way through my parent’s minds. Every time we get into a spat, she somehow turns the blame on me and I’m the one who gets in trouble because of her.

I’m the oldest.

I should know better.

She’s just a little girl

She’s sixteen.

Never mind the homework that I stay up late helping her with. Never mind the car rides to East Jesus Land that I’ve ever so graciously given her. Never mind the time I showed her how to drive. Never mind the recitals, dance concerts, honor society inductions, and sports games that I have taken the time to attend in her favor. Never mind all of that. It’s all about her.

My church doesn’t respect me. You would think after serving in that place for the past 19 (roughly) years of my life they wouldn’t screw me over as much as they do, but no. That’s not the case. Church isn’t supposed to be a place of resentment. I want to go to church to learn about God, not hate and that power-hog ass-licker, and not to be offended by the leader of the worship team that I’ve been serving in for the past 7 years. Seven years I’ve dealt with that man, and seven years I’ve been waiting for my chance to sing. Not just to sing, but to lead. Worship is the only time I connect God anymore. I don’t hear him in the sermons, I don’t see him in the films, and I don’t feel him in the wind. The only time I connect to God is with music. God speaks to me through music. When I sing, it’s like God telling me, in a soft melodic whisper, that everything is going to be okay; that this struggle I’m going through, it’s only a test. He’s saying to me

I don’t give you more than I can handle. I’m right here

But that man is taking all that away from me. My one connection with God. That one connection that has me hanging by a supernatural string. I need that, but he’s keeping it from me. They all are. I’m just tired of getting screwed over in the House of God.

My boyfriend doesn’t respect me. In the oddest of ways, it’s strange to see me write that. He’s probably the best thing to ever happen to me. But sometimes, he doesn’t respect me. Maybe he’s just learning, I don’t know. But it’s hard. When you’re mad at your boyfriend for not respecting you, you want to vent about it to your best friend. It’s just really hard to do that when your best friend is your boyfriend. I have no one else. But it seems we’re always competing with each other. If he’s not right, then… well that’s impossible because he’s always right. And he has no problem pointing out when I’m wrong either. You’d expecting a by such as handsome and sensitive as mine to immediately rush to my rescue whenever I’m feeling down, or I’m facing the normal abuse from my family. But no. He just sits there letting it happen. Then when I call him out for it, the argument turns around and then I’m the one apologizing. That’s not right.

My mother does NOT respect me. She patronizes me, she’s constantly criticizing me, she is always preaching at me…. It’s like I’m the world’s most sinful kid. I’m ALWAYS doing something wrong. I didn’t fluff the pillows correctly or I sounded like a mariachi singer when I lead worship that one time. I’m out with friends – she assumes I’m doing it with my boyfriend. Why does she assume that? Because she caught me making out with him once. She made me break up with him.

Let me repeat that

My mother. Made me. Break up. With my boyfriend.

And I did it. Out of obedience and respect for my mother, I did it.

Now I have to ask myself this one question: who was the ignorant one in this situation?

Who makes their daughter break up with their boyfriend? And even worse, what daughter actually listens to her? And you know what? She’s the reason. She’s the reason for my insecurity. She’s the reason I can’t trust anyone. She’s the reason I cannot connect to my father. She’s always complaining about him and she’s always bashing him.

You’re father doesn’t go to church, so he doesn’t know

You’re father is never home

I’m the one who raised you, not him

You’re father is a drunkard with a bad temper


She’s the reason I don’t want daughter.

I don’t want a daughter. I don’t want the pain of raising a daughter because I know… I know it will be miserable. My mother couldn’t stand her mother, and I can’t stand mine. I know my daughter will hate me. I don’t want that. I want my children to love respect me.

I have given that woman respect. I have given my father respect. I have given everyone respect but no one returns the favor. Then I look like the bad guy because I speak my mind and I demand for justice to be served.

But it never comes.

The world isn’t fair. And it’s just not fair.

It sucks because it only goes downhill from here.

Everyday is a new battle and I’m sorry, but I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of fighting with my family, I’m tired of fighting with my religion, I’m tired of fighting with my boyfriend. I’m just tired.

I want to go to sleep now, but I can’t get ready for bed without running into someone.

Submitted: October 20, 2013

© Copyright 2020 cristinalopez. All rights reserved.

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Miscellaneous / Memoir