(It gets cheerier by the end, I promise)

My parents are screaming more than usual tonight.

They're pissed again. Who knows what it's about, but I know that whatever it is doesn't matter. They just like to hate each other.

It's the tragic story of two people who should have divorced thirty years ago, because after the first six months of marriage, the veil was ripped away and both of them realized that this was not what should have been, what they deserved, etc. But, five children later, here I am. The last one. The different one. Who knows how I happened, but I know that however I happened, it's not significant enough to write a memoir about. I just like to think I'm that special.

If each child did write a memoir, they would give very different accounts of the situation we all found ourselves growing up in.

One would claim early abuse from the father and PTSD.

One would claim abuse from both parents, and depression.

One would claim a mistreated Cinderella-esque upbringing.

One would claim suicidal thoughts and anger management issues.

I don't know exactly what I would claim, but I would probably have threads of their stories, plus a certain amount of anxiety and self-awareness they seem to lack. Also, counselling. I went to counselling.

Somehow we all share DNA, and that's uncomfortable. I don't want to be linked to them. I don't want to think I share anything with them. Families aren't supposed to be like this. Obviously a lot of them are, so this isn't uncommon and this doesn't make me different from the hundreds, probably thousands of people dealing with similar things. 

But it still really sucks.

Because you don't want to tell people what the most probable root of all your mental issues is; you don't want to admit that you have mental issues. You don't want to seem less capable or less able because of them, but then you end up having to provide the disclaimer because you're in a situation that requires that of you. So now you have those sticky labels (complete with footnotes) on your forehead:

HI, MY NAME IS 

-ANXIOUS* 

*sometimes

-LOW SELF-ESTEEM* 

*sometimes

-DEPRESSED* 

*previously/presently (?)

-SUICIDAL* 

*not so much anymore (?)

-EMOTIONALLY DRAINED* 

*often

 and you don't want to explain where they came from. Lots of people have them because of chemicals in their brains. They're the lucky ones; they have a ready explanation if they need one. But as for me, I can't really pin down a specific direct cause. Lack of affirmation from my parents? The fact that they constantly fight? (I dunno how that affects my mental state personally, but it is horrible to live with.) Maybe it was that one time I found out that a girl didn't like me because I talked too fast and she found that annoying, and I had never known of anyone actively disliking me before, so I was plunged into a hellish state of mind that I later identified as depression, which was a lot for a twelve-year-old to go through even though it doesn't sound so big now. Maybe it was the inferiority complex, but that's more of a separate issue with another unidentifiable cause. Maybe I don't have a healthy enough diet, or listen to enough ukulele music.

Either way, I'm just really bloody tired of constantly wishing for freedom from the home that is nothing but the result of other people's crappy mistakes. But I can't forget that I was one of the results of those people's crappy mistakes. I don't think I was a mistake, and I wouldn't have happened if not for them. I don't like that, either. It's much easier to blame and blame and not think of any positive things. But somehow here I am, towards the end of this unsolicited, rambling, pointless life story/rant, realizing that I am a positive thing. I like a lot of things in the world, and I'm even in love with a lot of things. I may not be in love with my situation, but I have been brought into plenty situations that are so much better. 

I don't like the mantra that everything happens for a reason, because no matter how true it may be, it never comes off as anything but an excuse to invalidate pain. So I will not end this with "everything happens for a reason". I will end, instead, with:

My parents have stopped yelling, my bedroom smells nice, and there are two kinds of ice cream in the freezer.