We go into certain areas in life with an expectation of them being something and they turn out to be the opposite of what we had painted in our minds eye.
Similar to how we picture our adult lives when we are all grown up with the perfect family the perfect kids and oh I forgot the perfect relationship all held together by the perfect white picket fence.
Then reality slaps us in the face, as the bank forecloses on that perfect home we built and our perfect relationship sinks into the shit pit that has consumed our perfect 2 car garage which the builders only half-finished building due to non-payment, the light bill is due the car payments late, our perfect children have mental issues beyond comprehension, and we stand in what was our idealistic perfect heaven realising we are in hell.
That daughter who came home so cute from hospital all in pink, wears nothing but black and paints her face like Elvira, that baby boy we watched grow is now in the swing of adolescents and you’re sure he is wearing females underwear but your too scared to confront him, because like your gothic girl he has taken a liking to wearing black nail polish eyeliner and on occasion lipstick.
Your perfect idea of how it should be collides with the reality of how it is, as your heart sinks with that knock at the door, it’s the car repo crew coming to take your land cruiser, that you had forgotten all about making any kind of payment plan with the finance mob for.
Left standing in the empty drive way, watching the tail lights fade into the darkness, you glance back at what should be perfect yet the only perfection in this picture is the perfect fucked up mess It is, you hate your life, you cannot breathe, you don’t like your partner in fact the passion that you once had for one another, when you first got together, that burned so fierce is now a passion of a different kind, it’s a sheer hate, as your eyes burn into his soul, desperate to place the blame somewhere anywhere, on how fucked up your dream has become.
The reality of life leaves a sting that burns as it slaps you back into how it is, as you look at the tarp that is where roof tiles should be on the garage that has been like that for years, you side step the broken bricks on the drive way as you walk in the front door, in silence, nobody speaks, the silence is deafening, it is at this point you feel the snap, within your soul.
Your eyes pierce into your Elvira looking daughter and you demand she removes every fucking black, silver and bling item on her skinny bony carcass, your words are like poison as you finish with get that fucking ring out of your nose, the one out of your mouth and if I so much as see that thing again in your navel I will and I state will remove it my fuckiing self.
Your venom now at your son, as you glare, he looks away, you let fly, ‘you are male! What the fuck goes on in your head?!’ he turns to work away, as you grip hold of his arm, you see under his long sleeves the deep scars, you stop, and demand he roll’s up his sleeves, he declines, you demand louder this time, as you claw away at his shirt, heart racing so fast so hard, stomach churning, you know that you have heard about kids cutting, but not yours surely fucking not your own son?
You look at his pale skin, not a centimetre of it remains unmarked, there’s old scars and fresh ones, there’s what looks like burn marks, and words.
‘How? What? Why? What the fucking hell is going through your fucking mind?’
Just then the man you thought you were so in love with the one you thought you were destined to spend your life, steps in, and tells you to stop, your eyes now glare into his, such hate radiating from every part of you, desperate to get in the car and just drive, but the repo dick heads took that because the so-called provider for your family couldn’t even do that, and he has the fucking cheek to stop you from showing your son what cut really is.
Your temper beyond boiling point, the feelings so overwhelming you have to sit down, and then you realise, this is as good as it gets, two dysfunctional kids, your daughter with some fucking eating problem you always pushed down as being a fussy eater, your son some kind of punk cross dresser self-mutilating loner, and then there’s your husband, a man you hate with all of your heart body and soul.
This is the reality of how it is, this is what it is, yet there is nothing you can do to fix it, change it, what happens now?
Where does a broken family turn to from this point?
That baby girl was supposed to be a ballerina some star that would radiate the silver screen your son he was going to be a doctor change the world make a difference you oh my fucking god you had such high hopes for motherhood and being a wife, but those hopes and dreams are now all shattered by that stinging slap in the face of reality.