I took the night off work so I could study for a test that I have in lab in the morning. It was a hard decision to make because all though I wasn’t going to have many tables, I still do need to make money. I wish it were more of a no-brainer for me to prioritize school over a job serving food to people, but damn, money is tight right now. I walk in the house to find baba, whose dismay was apparent from the creases in his forehead that I had returned home much earlier than my normal time. Mama sat in her usual pose at one end of the couch; her left arm on the armrest and the other arm to her side with her fist in a ball resting on the cushion. I don’t greet her nor did she greet me. With her eyes still fixed on the Urdu talk show playing on the television she passes a comment in a bland tone stating that since I took the night off from work tonight she would not have the money to pay for her expired prescription medication at the clinic tomorrow. I continue walking uninhibited to my room, ready to take off the heavy load of my book bag still clinging to my shoulder. Upon entering the room my face is flushed with frustration and sadness. Frustration and sadness: two emotions that I have become accustomed to over the years of living in this house. They are as common as flies in a blistering summertime heat. My mind goes back to the fact that I feel that this burden of my family has been placed unjustly on my shoulders. I feel disappointment burgeoning in my veins when my family is tight for money. I work five nights a week and attend school for two of those days in the afternoon, and the other two afternoons are spent at clinical taking care of patients. I am twenty-two years old. I know I’m not unique; other people my age may have the same family and financial struggles. My circumstances, however, are completely unique to my situation.
I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I cannot punish myself for feeling overwhelmed or weak. For the longest time I would hurt myself, in fact, I still hurt myself. Sometimes physically, but mostly with my thoughts.
I want to get drunk. I want to drive somewhere, get drunk, and scream out my frustration and sadness at the top of a cliff.
I want to enter an abandoned house and trash it with all of my rage, let it splatter the walls in a frenzy.
I want to destroy something. I’m just tired of being the something.