last week, on wednesday, my mom and her husband had an argument about wanting to get a divorce. They fight very often so this was not particularly special. But something was different that day, because he actually threw something at her (scissors), broke something she owned (a box containing fabric art supplies I believe) and then stormed out saying he would never set foot in the house again. He was angrier than we had ever seen him. After he left, my mom said that it was dangerous that night, and in case he came back she made me lock myself in my room with food and water and a bucket for a toilet. I spent hours sitting on the floor of my room, holding my grandpa's old police baton (he wasn't a cop, he just owned a police baton for whatever reason) convinced that my mom's husband would come back and be able to break down my door with ease.

The next day, I went to work. I learned, later, that he came back early in the morning, and he and my mom had another conversation, wherein he made clear that I was the reason for him wanting a divorce. He... never has liked me, but more recently he has started to lie about me towards my mom, trying to convince her to hate me as well. He is convinced that I am an alcoholic who is secretly prostituting myself in my room, which he describes as a whore's house. He said I was a drug addict, unemployed and lying about having a job (despite me and my mom, you know, working at the same company and seeing each other there every day) and all I do all day (apparently) is lay around in bed and drink and smoke. My mom, of course, knows that none of that is true, and even if it was she would still choose me above him, she says. Because it was my house first, before he came, and all that. And I'm her kid, that kind of stuff.

I had to spend the next night in a hotel room because it was just too bad. In the weekend I stayed away from home as much as possible (which I do anyways, pro tip: get a library card and an unlimited cinema pass) and we had my aunt's farewell dinner because she's planning on killing herself in approximately a week and a half (because everything just has to suck at the same time, I guess).

Now, I'm sleeping at home again, staying out all day just sitting on park benches and reading when I'm not at work. He acts like nothing happened, except now he doesn't acknowledge me anymore. I was terrified when he was angry, genuinely fucking terrified that he'd do something to my mom. He threw scissors, what if he does that again and that time they get lodged in her eye or something? We had a window repair man come by to repair the window and I was already worried, because the repairman was black and my mom's husband is a horrific racist. Luckily all he did was rant at my mom about my apparent secret prostitution.

And, well, it sucks, doesn't it? I have to hear all this about myself every day. And there comes my mom saying that she'll always put me first. But she obviously doesn't. Because if she did, she would have kicked him out years ago, when I was fourteen and he joked about raping me. When I was nineteen-or-so and he said he wanted to squeeze my ass. When she used to make me let him massage my feet because I had beautiful feet and he has a foot fetish. There is a housing crisis in my country and I am working super hard to move out as soon as possible, but I'm stuck here for now. And it fucking sucks, okay? That's all I wanted to say.

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