“Those who desire to give up freedom in order to gain security will not have, nor do they deserve, either one.”- Benjamin Franklin
Have you ever had the feeling like you were being watched? Well I do, but its not what you think. Look in the mirror and tell me what you see. Yes, at first you would see yourself, at first I saw myself too. Now I don’t know, I see myself but then again there’s something different about what I see. He’s more evil, more or less what I usually see......................
Who Am I?
[Tape recorder clicks]......“Hello, my names Audrey Mitchell. I guess I should talk about me and what's bothering me. Before I do something I won’t regret. And I don’t know what's going on in my head. Hopefully someone else can tell me, I’m scared. Or maybe angry. Or maybe even sick.....................
I wake up everyday, just like you. I cry sometimes, just like you. I get angry sometimes, just like you. I smile, just like you. I am a person, just like you. But I never said I know who I am. That same question gets me everytime I stare at the mirror with a hopeless expression wondering “what's next?”. Back when everything was planned and I knew what moves to make, I would sit on my bed, everyday and write down my mood swings in a journal I do not really care for now. Some people, mostly my family, believe my mood-swings are because of the divorce, but that’s the answer for every teenagers urge to lash out on their parents. But not every kid is blessed to hear that their parents are splitting up. I mean it’s sad and everything, but they are much happier now. Yes my parents did get a divorce, but just like they always say, “It’s not your fault Audrey, me and your father just aren’t in love like we used to be.” What 17 year old boy doesn’t want to hear their parents’ complain about a boring marriage and sex life? Damn, now I want to get married. I was being sarcastic if you didn’t know. My mom has been doing things I never thought she would do. Better yet things she stopped doing. I love my mom to death, but after the divorce its like she doesn’t care what happens. My parents wanted a divorce, but signing the divorce papers is another story. My father lives too far to see, not that it matters to him. So you can kinda see why they are still legally married, but can’t stand each other.
So my mother is a cheater, because of my dad’s off-and-on abusive attitude while they were still married. I would want to see how they would explain that to me. Is it wrong to love my father, even if he used to abuse my mom? Normally people would say, “yeah Audrey its ok, but how do you feel about him now?” You can kind of see where this conversation would take place. A person that gets paid to care, when in actuality they couldn’t give a rats ass about what goes on in my head or home. And sadly enough, my mom sends me to the same therapist she sees. Awkward?, you don’t know the meaning of the word. To come into that therapy office two days out of the week and catch my mother and my therapist lock lips, even though patient-doctor relationships aren’t allowed. Not even counting the fact that my mom still treats me like a kid, and believes I don’t know about their little affair and tries to hide it from me. WAKE THE HELL UP! Not everyone can catch on to a hint. They even try to act like they don’t share face-time in her frequent therapy sessions. But its neither here nor there. My therapist even gets a little too personal with his choice of questions. I understand how crazy that sounds, a therapist sitting for about an hour listening to personal family problems just to ask the same dumb ass question over and over again. The same question that never gets solved or answered, but always asked, “How does that make you feel?” Even though I humor him, well more or less myself by answering those stupid questions with signs that I know you fooling around with my mother.
As you can see I hate talking about myself. Did I mention that I hate my therapist? His name should tell it all, Mr. Screwboi (Screw-Boy). I know what wouldn’t help. Telling him to his face that I want to use my size 10 boots, and stump his teeth in.That would just be another reason to give me a prescription for medication I haven’t heard of, and don’t want to take. I’m going to leave that man-to-man to talk for later. You can always find the root of your problem, but fixing it is always the bigger issue. I would probably think my journal was more of my therapist, rather than that lame excuse for a person my mom has lowered her standards for. I know it seems that I can’t let up on my mom, but she should talk to me just like she pretends to talk to screwy. Just to recap current bull crap in my life, my father is a deadbeat woman-beater, my mother is oblivious to the fact that I know shes dating a guy that doesn’t care for anyone but himself, the jerk-off, Mr. Screwboi. Just like I mentioned before, the name pretty much says it all. It always gets so hard to figure who I am, when I worry about everything around me. I used to ask myself, who am I. Its the turning point in my life that scares me, because I don’t think I care any more. So I’ll just leave that question for later, no matter how long it takes.
I See You
2 Months later...........................
Its been two months since I have been asked how I feel. I see my father less and less each day. I guess I forgot to mention about a month ago my father, “decided” to hang out with me more. Like every other lie I have heard, why did I believe that one? I’m beginning to think I don’t even know how he looks now. Thank God, he pisses me off every time I see or think of the bastard. This puts a whole new twist on daddy issues. Even though I love discussing my issues at home and the mental problems I don’t have, its hard to believe that my anger comes from home. Maybe Mr. Scewy wasn’t so far gone. As what might be more reasonable is the problem at school. But since kids with anger and isolation problems get bullied all the time, adults really can’t change whatever happens prior to being picked on. I, on the other hand, don’t want help. What are they going to tell me? “Oh Audrey, I’m so sorry.” And even, “ Audrey do you want to talk about it?” If you can’t help, don’t talk to me. A guidance counselor at school and a therapist at home, theres so much wrong with that.
Destiny Valor is a very good reason, why I can wake up each morning for school and not off myself without laying a towel down first. I think of her as a good excuse for me to try and pretend to be normal. She is a beautiful brunette (I think she dyes her hair) with light brown-hazel eyes. She is a Halle Berry coconut skin tone. I would say I love her, but that is way to soon to tell. What I’m looking for is a reason to say she is just like the rest, misleading and heartless. This is the problem with beautiful girls that look perfect, “looks can be deceiving”. I hate her and I like her. I miss her and I can’t forget her. It’s sad to say I have imagined this whole, off and on relationship since the first time I saw her. I don’t even know if she knows my name. But of course like every major character in a story (I love you, Beth Cooper). They never get the girl at first only until a girl gets sick of the hooligans and shenanigans, then realizes what she needs. Not just what everyone else wants for her. Destiny isn’t the problem, it is my ex-best friend Christopher Mays. He was my best friend, until he realized he was too cool for anyone else. We grew up together from a very young age. You could even say he was my brother by the way he took up for me. Sometimes he would share his clothes, shoes, and underwear with me when my clothes were too small for me. I didn’t need to ask, he just knew what to say and what to do to cheer me up. The best thing is he never asked questions, just did what he could. I remember when we were young enough to laugh at whoopie cushions and we made a pinky promise to never let girls come between us. From that day forward for about 9 years we made that promise over. The promise would change as we got older. I now realize that pinky swears mean nothing. If girls didn’t come between us, we would still be the best of friends.
Before Destiny and Chris went out all three of us were very close. I am a mulatto brown-skinned pacifist, with parents that were either a professional women’s boxer or a bounty hunter. My Caucasian mother, Misty Mitchell a.k.a “Mighty Mitch”, was the undefeated lightweight champion four times in a row. Her downfall came like many great boxers, arrogance and then drugs. My father on the other hand, had it all. He was a bounty hunter. I know what youre thinking, its cool that your father gets paid by the criminals he brings in. Well that’s just a good reason for him to stay out late, or even leave for weeks at a time. And the excuse he would bring up is, “I’m sorry buddy tell your mom, this could really be it for this job”. That’s the stupidest answer ever. But apparently that wasn’t a big deal to my mother. She saw him a couple weeks, and sometimes a few days out of a month. I don’t really believe this 100%, but it could be a reason. I think the reason why my mother didn’t overreact to my father’s job, was either she loved him or she was cheating on him. I don’t want to think of my mother as tramp, but why would she try and keep Mr. Screwboi a secret from me? And I won’t ever say it has anything to do with my feelings, because I know she doesn’t care. Whether your mighty mitch or a dead-beat father full time, and a bounty hunter part-time you still find time to make my life a living hell.
Did I mention I hate my father. Sorry if I said that already. I won’t never be able to forget him, even if I change my name legally. The reason because I will always remember why I changed my name in the first place. There’s a special reason for why I hate my father today. Today is June 17 2012. If you're not familiar with this day that comes once each year, it is FATHER’S DAY! I’m so happy that I have known my father for 17 years and probably only saw him my first 5 years of living. And I am also so very freaking grateful that my mother named me after him, Audrey Arian Mitchell Jr. The problem with changing my name legally is, my mom tells me to never let anyone change who you are. But the thing is my father isn’t letting me do anything, because he probably doesn’t even know what I’m doing. The only thing that I share with that bastard is a bloodline. Apparently that’s important, because if that wasn’t the case I wouldn’t ever have to say his name. Also today’s journal entry wouldn’t have to deal with father’s day. I wish he was like a “average white dad”, you know the ones they try and show on commercials from companies that want to market their newest product. Is that so wrong to say? Is the reason why so many people would get mad at me is because of the race for the father I want? I don’t think its the race I picked that gets people’s panties in a bunch. I think the reason is because I am not a good little boy that can accept the fact that I am crazy and don’t care.
As for my mother, Mr. Screwboi and the world, medication can help with what people try and fix, but can’t. I don’t get why Mr. Screwboi is trying to be my father, even when he pretends to be professional when I’m around. Today he had the nerve to say, “Audrey, I just want you to know that since your father isn’t around, I’m here if you need someone to talk to”. The sad part is he says that any other day, the days he has me as a patient. And some may tell me to talk to him, just because he is my shrink, luckily I don’t give a fuck. So basically my response to that was, “Ok Mr.Screwboi, I appreciate your concern for my well being, I’ll definitely keep that in mind. I have been keeping a journal for to got-damn long for anyone to believe I sound anything like that. This is what I really said, “Listen Screw-balls, Screw-beans, Screw-ben, whatever your name is, I don’t respect you and you can see talking won’t get you anywhere but profanity and an nonchalant attitude. So this is your chance to walk away with no physical trauma”. The reason I didn’t say that the first time is because, I have to touch it up for any future generations of kids with similar problems, that obviously can’t talk to anyone. Screwboi, being my father? He has a better chance of dying or becoming an atheist. I almost forgot that I got a letter from my [biological] father. He sends a check once a month. It has to be a little ironic that he sent it on father’s day. And do you want to know the messed up part about the letter, he also sent a photo of another kid. And I have been looking at the photo, and to be honest the boy looks about my age. And also on the back of picture there is a date on it “5/14/1994”. The craziest thing is, that’s my birthday too................................
Identical or Fraternal
My last journal entry ended with that picture of that kid. He doesn’t look like me, but somehow I feel like I could know him. Well actually I called my dad today, and I told him about the picture I found. Of course like the bastard I know he is, he told me that was his son from another woman. He told me that the picture was taken one day when they went to an amusement park. Whether he’s lying or telling the truth I don’t care. AlI I know right now is, I have to find out who that boy is. If we were born on the same day, month and year my father better have an explanation. I don’t know but it feels as though I should know him or like I have always known him. But the lying from him didn’t stop there. And also you may be wondering journal, how can he possibly be lying? Well I have been thinking about it longer then I’ve been writing. The only logical explanation that comes to mind is, Audrey Arian Mitchell Sr. really cheated on my mom and whether I like it or not, this boy is the proof.
So me not giving a fuck lead me to question my mom, aggressively. Right now, Mr. Screwboi isn’t looking so bad. Either he cheated around the time he met my mother, or my mom was really the mistress, I just had to know. Well to check some aching questions I had, I needed to cut school. After rushing home, I caught my mom from the window sitting with screwy on the couch. Then he got up mad, if I ever saw him and started pushing stuff over and breaking things. I started to rush to the door, when I heard screaming. I went back to the window, and saw him start choking my mother as she screamed for air. I ran to the door screaming my mom’s name, but the door was locked. So I grabbed the metal bat we hide in the bush next to the door, then smashed the window. Just as it smashed I hopped in the house and swung the bat at his head, lucky for him he ducked. My mom rolled to the ground and clinched her throat as she coughed and spit up blood. After the swing to the head, he fell after ducking the swing and I swung while he was on the ground. At this point he can die for all I care, but my mom grabbed my leg. I was distracted for about a second, then he got up and tackled me. The tackled lead to him grabbing me and holding me up from the ground until we flew through the broken window to the curve outside. As my mom screamed through the window, Dr. Charles Screwboi choked the life and obviously the breath out of me. I haven’t the slightest recollection of what happened until I woke up in the hospital with giant bruises around my neck, with a punctured spinal cord and bruised ribs. But once I woke up from being knocked unconscious, the doctors told me what I did to him was much worse, but they told me they understand because he attempted to hurt my mom and kill me.
How Could You?!
Ok, so I have been in the hospital for about two weeks. It was a fight with the nurses, trying to get my journal in her so I can record what’s happening. The doctors say I can leave in another week, if my mom comes and picks me up. Even though Screwy deserved what he got, I can’t be so cold that I can’t figure what happened to him...............................................................................
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