Six Feet Under

Growing up we are told that there are two kinds of families – nuclear and joint – mine is broken.

Funny how my parents never told me that. It's just something I realized while growing up that how unhappy and delusional we are. Even fraud I would say. In public, we're the perfect little family of one and only daughter Paige Martin and my father Brad Martin and my mother Carol Martin. We act like we are the happiest when in reality we are not even close to that.

My parents have been on the verge of divorce since maybe I was 8. It was a big thing for an eight-year-old to find out that her parents maybe don't really love each other. What husband would be sleeping on the couch while his wife bawled her eyes out in her bedroom? The walls were thin, they still are, so now I don't hear any sobbing but the arguments that are no longer low whispered but are screamed at the top of the lungs.

And no, I am not the sad little victim of this, I, too once a week and three times a month engage in arguments with my parents because apparently, I don't understand how much they have sacrificed for me. Trust me I do. Mom sacrificed her job when I was born so she could take care of me. Honestly, I don't think I can ever do that for my child – if I survive that long – because giving up your career is like taking a bullet to your heart.

They remind me on a daily basis that they have given me a roof over my head and the food to eat and clothes to wear and send me to a good school. Funny how these things they see not as basic responsibilities but something that should make me spill out tears in gratefulness. In my seventeen years of life, the only person who has seen me through everything is my best friend, Brianna. She is my sounding board. My human diary. And the only one who knows about the scars on my wrists. But thats a topic of another day. At least, I have food to eat, right?

Waking up has never been the easiest job for me. Especially, when I am only able to sleep one and sometimes miraculously two hours before my alarm is about to go off. My eye bags can speak for themselves. The room is dark because the curtains are drawn, I can see the sunlight trying to peek through but I would not let it unless I want to. I like my room in the dark. I tried to count till fifty to make the laziness go away but it did not do shit, if anything, it made me even more exhausted. I want to just sleep but I don't want to be late for school either.

I let out a dramatic exhale and left my bed although my body begged me not to.

Taking a shower is not in my cards today although it does not seem necessary right now to take one since I took one yesterday. I know it must sound gross but I promise I am trying.

I freshened up and decided to wear the same white long-sleeved t-shirt I have worn millions of times and the same comfortable jeans that I have also slept in a million of times. I made my way downstairs to find my father reading a newspaper on the couch and sipping his coffee. I could hear the sound of mixer grinder from the kitchen so that is where mom must be. I cleared my throat slightly to let him know I am in the same room as he is.

His body stiffened and he realized he has to try to act like a father for a few minutes now. Last night he came home late and most probably drunk so he won't be saying more than five words since he knows that I know what he did. It is weird how I know everything about my parents, what they do, what they are like, what do they like and dislike. About their crippling marriage and their urgent need to find themselves a therapist before they either kill themselves or drive their only child to kill herself.

"Good morning." My voice came out all awkward.

"Morning." It sounded like it costed him his remaining ten bucks to say that. I ignored it. Like always.

I heard footsteps coming out of the kitchen and I turned around to see my mom with my bag of lunch. I don't eat my breakfast so early in the morning. Especially, if I have school. It makes me feel like I might throw up. I don't usually eat my lunch at school because it makes me feel like I might throw up. So, I usually eat some snacks in the evening and dinner. Welcome to the life of a normal depressed slash anxious teen.

"Here is your lunch." She said in a hurry like she is late for her flight.

I took it from her while muttering a silent thank you. Before I could step out of the door my mom said, "Paige, work hard at school, okay. There should not be any excuse this time. We don't work for this."

I looked at her and gave her a silent nod. And closed the door behind me. Just in case you don't know, let me tell you about it. In my math test I scored a C+ and that did not sit well my parents. I worked hard for my test but I could not get a grade that my parents desired but that is fine. I know I worked hard and did my best. After thinking about my mother's words for a few more minutes I could feel my throat getting a bit tight and my eyes a bit moist.

I tried hard.

I bit the inside of my cheeks hard enough that I could taste something metallic but at least it kept me from crying. I inhaled sharply and blinked away the blurriness that my tears caused. It is a fifteen minutes-walk from my house to my school. I reached my school and saw Brianna standing near my locker and gave me the widest smiles I have ever seen. She came running towards me and embraced me in a hug. It feels so good when someone is genuinely happy to see you.

"I was waiting for you and look what I did." She said while dragging me towards my locker.

I saw where she was pointing at and it made me laugh. She pasted a small photo of Michael Scott on my locker with the quote, "Should have burned this place down when I had the chance."

"It's true. I should have." I joked. Or maybe not.

"I would have been your accomplice." She said while swinging her arms around my neck.

"You know what a kick ass duo we could be. We can be the next...no, we will be the only Paige and Brianna." She said the usual Brianna stuff and I listened because I love listening to her. Even if she does not always make sense.

"You are really energetic today." I said while taking out my English book from my locker because that is the first class that I have. And I am thankful for that.

"Listen, I have to balance us out. I have to be opposite of what you are. Also, how are you feeling this morning?" She asked the last sentence in a singing voice.

"Better, I guess. I don't know. Taking it one day at a time." I said honestly.

"And I am proud of you for that." She replied with honesty too.

Soon the bell rang for our first class and we headed to opposite directions. I have always enjoyed my English class but there is a reason behind it. My English teacher whose name is Mr. Edward Harlow once caught me crying. In the library. I had a panic attack before my Math class and I did not know where to go. In the washroom there were other girls and if they would have noticed me crying it would have been pretty embarrassing so I went to the library because it usually stayed empty. So, I went to a corner and my whole face was sweaty and I did not know what to do.

I heard someone making their way towards the corner I was at and I tried to blink away the tears but it was too late. My eyes were pooled with tears so I quickly pulled out a book from the shelf and started turning its pages as if I was looking for something.

"Miss. Martin?" He said and his voice was authoritative and calm.

"Yes, Mr. Harlow." My voice trembled.

I could see right through his face that he knew I was crying. He saw that I was just pretending to look through something. He knew I was pretending to be okay, that I was trying to hide away my tears. And the best part about it was that he let me.

When school finally came to an end I could not wait to just go back to my house and sleep away the tiredness. The math class sucked the life out of me. My teacher asked me a question out of the blue and it felt like the earth stopped spinning on its axis. I looked at the question on the board but it did not made sense to me at all. So, I looked down at my notes in my notebook and said whatever made sense to me in that moment. My answer was wrong. But at least it was over. I could hear a few giggles but I ignored them. I am getting good at ignoring.

That does not mean that it does not affect me.

When I reached home, I stopped at the threshold of doorstep of my house. I could sense that something was not right. I turned the doorknob with shaky hands and entered inside. I was hit by silence. Only the sound of the clock was audible. This is strange.

I saw the newspaper that my father was reading on the table. No one was in the kitchen. I made my way upstairs and saw that the door to my parent's room was locked. Are they in the same room? Because if they are then that is surprising. They haven't been in the same room since the past one month. I silently made my way towards their door and tried to hear what was going on inside. I could hear some shuffling. And then I hear a sob. Same old thing. But why this time?

I tried to hear what they were saying. But I could only hear the sound of my mom sobbing and then as if they remembered they have to scream, I heard my father yell.

"I wish I could just go away from you. From all of this." He meant every word of it.

"Then leave. I can manage just fine without you." If someone who does not know my mom would have heard her shout like this would have refused to believe that she was sobbing just a second ago. "And take your daughter with you."

"Oh! So now she is my daughter. Huh? Is she only my responsibility now?" My father continued the screaming saga.

"Who wanted to start a family? Was it me? No, Brad. It was your idea." Wow! If they do get divorced, I wonder if they will even try to keep me with one of them.

"She is not a problem of mine alone. You are her mother, Carol. So, why don't you keep her with you while I go away from all of this." I could imagine my dad waving his hands around in frustration.

"Go to hell. I wish I had never married you." My mom was crying again.

"I wish. I would have been so much happier." That was the last thing my father said before there was a dead silence.

I knew that the fight has come to an end and one of them, most probably my father, will leave the room now. So, I quickly turned back on my heels and quickly made my way downstairs and out of the house. I silently closed it behind me and stood outside like that for 5-7 minutes. Then, like I am just returning from school, I opened the door and made my way inside. My father is sitting on the couch and my mom is back in the kitchen.

I pretended like I knew nothing.

"I am home." I said like I normally do and made my way to my room.

It's not like they have never fought in front of me. It's just that I don't want them to know that I caught them fighting or heard what they feel like about me and about their marriage. I guess because it will make them feel bad. And they feel shitty enough so I try to avoid being a part of it as much as I can. Although, it seems like I am a part of their problem. Because they can't decide who I actually belong to.

I closed the door to my room and laid down on my bed. The curtains are still drawn so that feels good. I let this weird feeling sink in. This feeling that I don't belong here. The realization that I am unhappy and so are my parents. This empty feeling in my heart will someday swallow me whole leaving no traces of my existence behind.

How many times can I go through the same thing over and over again until I say enough? How many times can a person be hurt over and over again until it finally kills them? How many times can two people say they don't love each other until they finally go their separate ways? How many times can a person pity on itself until he realizes that he is one of the unlucky ones?

I guess that is something I'll have to find out.