Day 4 [technically]
12:03 AM
Uh. So my boyfriend kicked me out of the car. Like, literally. They pulled over and he kicked me in the gut, sending me out the backseat door. I still have the scar from his football cleats to prove it. So I fell onto the street curb, and I let the tears run down my face for the last time. That's right-I haven't cried since.
They didn't drop me off that far from my house, and although it was raining-downpouring by now-it wasn't that difficult for me to find my way home. But when I got there, it wasn't exactly the comfort I had wanted.
When I opened the door, the smell of alcohol was distinct among the other warm smells of home. It was enough to almost send me into tears again. I coughed, then looked for my mom. I found her laid out on the couch and totally wasted.
"Mom," I had tried desperately, needing someone to talk to...a mom. "Help me."
The words she said have been played over and over in my head for the past 2 or so years. "Cat," she drawled, "You're a whiny b*tch! Don't you ever relaaaaax? You do nothin' but complaain!!" She then barfed on the carpet-Something I thought was gross then. But throwing up, it's good now.
I never responded. I ran to the phone and dialed my dad's number. "Dad," I had said, "Come get me. Daddy, I need you." I was pleading useless things.
"Catie?" My dad had asked, although I was his only daughter and the only one who called him Dad. "Uh, Catie...now's no good. Sorry." And I slammed the phone down, hanging it up.
That was the day my dad said no. The day my mom stopped drinking.
And the day I stopped eating.
~Catherine Elizabeth Duncan