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Hannah Johnson

Mr. King

English I

14 February 2017

What Restrains Us

I could feel my face burning and when I peered into the mirror, a disheartened face stared

back at me stained with a florid tint. Salty tears slithered down my face and into my mouth,

engendered by the vociferous screams of my parents. This was the grim day in December in

which my parents separated; The day altered me forever. Outside my house the sky was an

indignant shade of grey and rain pattered heavily on the cement. The wind whipped the trees

around, causing leaves to ferociously rip from their stems, creating miniature tornadoes as they

descended downwards.

As the screaming continued relentlessly, I felt betrayed by the thought of love and the

happily ever afters shown in the movies. There wasnt a knight in shining armor waiting to catch

me when I fall and carry me off into the sunset. The appalling fights I witnessed made me

believe love was just a ruse perpetrated by the actors I saw on the silver screens. Learning at a

young age that love can be unrequited and false caused me to limit myself emotionally. Waiting

for the moment someone would inevitably fail me as I had seen from my parents time and time

again. Children are like marble waiting to be carved into a magnificent sculpture, the artist that

configure us being the world. I myself had been carved to see life through rose-tinted glasses that

had been shattered and no longer functional.

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There was only ten days left until Christmas. This filled me with immense joy. Christmas

lights lit up the city and the smell of Fraser Fir trees floated throughout the air. It started out like

any other fight, over something that didn't matter. My parents screams were deafening;

Sometimes the screams became so splitting I didn't know if it was my parents or the thunder

outside. The house trembled as their voices echoed throughout. I thought the house might

collapse inward, leaving me trapped beneath the rubble of my broken home. My Christmas spirit

was broken, a rude awakening to the reality of the world. Their separation somehow stripped me

of my childhood love for Christmas. Now the holiday just leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I no

longer await happily for the holiday, instead I dread it. A sinking feeling comes fast, dragging me

under the dark, cold waters of my sorrow.

This fight was persistent and somehow I knew it was different. I screamed at my parents

to stop but I was drowned out from by the fire spitting from their mouths. Not only did the fire

burn each other, but it left me charred. If words could cut, my parents would be covered in

ineradicable cuts that eventually would turn into vile scars. I ran to my room and locked myself

away, like some twisted fairytale with no prince to come to my aid or a happily ever after.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs to my room, and I instinctively curled up, bringing my legs to

my chest. My mothers soft voice greeted me, and the words she said next became etched into

my head as I replayed it over and over afterwards. Pack up your things, I cant stay here any

longer, she told me. My stomach dropped and so did my heart. I knew what this meant and even

though my family was not perfect, they were MY family.

I didnt want us to be split apart, the void would be unfillable. Yet I found my weak legs

lift me off my bed and to my closet where I packed a few things. With my shaking hand I turned

the golden doorknob to my mothers kind face. The trip downstairs and to the car were all a blur.
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But I remember with great clarity sitting in the back seat of my mothers car watching the rain roll

down the windows. I wondered if the clouds were crying for me, or if they themselves had

problems to cry about. I didnt understand why my mother thought she had the right to tear my

family apart as awful as it sounds. What I couldnt comprehend was that my family was already

torn and even stitches couldnt heal this wound.

My mom is a strong woman, and seeing her at her lowest made me ache down to the

core. I tried to stay upbeat, trying to not to get dragged back down to the pitch black depths of

my melancholy as I had succumbed to the feeling over and over again. But my dads side of the

family wouldnt let the situation be, and the bad blood was never left to dry. When I saw them,

they would belittle me and my sister. Saying remarks to upset us and get us riled up. In life

sometimes situations dont deserve reactions, so I stayed quiet never once standing up for

myself. When I look back at this time in my life, Im thankful for it. I would rather my parents

be apart then together, for the sake of my mother. Im still not close with my dad though I wish I

was. But some things are better left alone, I feel like this is one of them.

When I tell this story, I dont seek pity or attention. I tell this story because its mine, and

it shaped me to be who am I today. Im content with myself and as Ive grown, I realized that

without this experience I wouldnt be as mindful, or careful with people's feelings as I am now.

We all have moments in our lives that will dictate us forever. No matter how much we deny its

existence, this experience controls us. To mature, we must accept the existence of what controls

us and learn to live with it. We all must learn from our past.