Another Summer Camp

Nine Days Left

I was laying on my bed, listening to music, as always. It was a normal summer day routine, having school been out for about a week now, it's something I've fallen into. My mom was working and my dad was probably starting to get ready for another night of work. Nothing had changed.

Since school ended there hasn't been that stress to weigh me down, but anticipation for my month away from home was starting to get to me. It is only nine days, and a five hour drive away. So my brain was starting to go into overdrive about it, and that wasn't good for me, ever.

I had no idea what I was going to do on a five hour drive. I mean, I would listen to music, but my parents would actually kill me if I used that much data, so I couldn't do that. Maybe I would nap some of it, if I was tired or happened to fall asleep in a moving vehicle, which almost never happened thanks to being the most restless traveler alive. Or maybe I'll just stare out the window at whatever we were passing, counting the exit signs and how many fast food restaurants appear on the signs — that sounds fun.

Anyway, Aunt Alex has been coming over more and more in the past few weeks, wanting to see me and get me prepared for camp. I think she was coming over tomorrow afternoon, maybe, and I think we are going over what I need to pack for next week. I think she's going up to her house near there to get everything ready, then coming back down the day before and helping me pack everything. I hope she sleeps over in our guest room. It always made my parents think about what they were doing, so they didn't have screaming matches and most times my dad wasn't as drunk as he was normally. She also would insist on making breakfast and would let me help her in cooking something more than frozen waffles in a toaster.

I hadn't bothered to looked up the camp, not really caring what I had to do (within reason) to get out of here for even a week, never mind a month. I think heaven is smiling on me because I only had just over a week left and there hadn't been much fighting around the house. I say that with hope that the pattern continues, but knowledge that it won't. For all I know it could break tomorrow at 5 am, a nice, loud wake up call from my parents.

"Allie? Do you need anything before I head out?" I guess I was right, Dad was heading out for work. I wonder where he was going and how much he was going to pay and get payed tonight. It's not that my family doesn't have enough money, it's just how much we spend and not save that hurts us.

"I'm good Dad, thanks." Being home alone means I can do things that I would never do when my parents are home. Nothing unholy for those of you would think of that, but there are some pieces of myself I hide so I can keep some level of control over my life.

"Mom will be home around 7 tonight. She said to text her if you need anything. Love you Allie boo." Nickname aside, I had about 2 - 2 1/2 hours alone tonight. And seven o'clock is too late for dinner today, so I'll just make myself something around six-ish.

"Can you tell Mom that I'll make dinner for myself tonight? Love you too Daddy." I didn't bother to hear his reply, knowing that he would do it for me. My dad had always tried to make me happy, but it got harder the more I learned and understood what was happening around me.

About the age of seven I started to understand some of the issues that were happening around the house. Money flow was part of it because no matter how much they made, there always seemed to not be enough. Then there was the late nights or early mornings of Dad coming home drunk; those never ended well. And the next morning weren't the best time to be around, that's when the screaming matches were the most likely to start up.

Mom's mood swings weren't helping anything either, and that leads me to her possible bipolarity. As much as I want to say something, I don't want her mad at me or start screaming at me instead of Dad because I think she has a mental disorder that could be a reason for her company to fire her. So, I let her be and was careful what I said, around both of them.

Waiting a few minutes, making sure that the car was at least down the street before leaving the safety of my room. I unplug the ear buds from my phone and the music starts playing aloud, a quiet soundtrack to my life. My steps feel in time with the hidden metronome and soon enough I was waltzing to the music slowly around the kitchen, having gone down the stairs without even knowing it.

Soon I was singing, the lyrics pouring out of me without a second thought. As much as I listened to the songs as something to help me calm down, the melodies themselves sunk under my skin and became part of me. Each one hidden behind the walls I had built, only allowed to come out now, when I was truly alone.

This was the hidden piece of my life, the one I could never share because it wouldn't be mine if I did. I sang only when no one was listening, never having put myself out there when I was in the choir at my schools. I never felt comfortable enough to, and even if I did, it would probably end up with me struggling to breath and crying.

As much as I hate saying it, this world wasn't meant for people like me. You read that right, and no, I'm not suicidal, it's just hard being like this. The littlest thing can set off anxiety and then next thing you know it's hard to breath and you can't bring yourself back to how you were before. And a lot of things unintentional bring stress, like school (well, maybe that's planned), and family, and friends, and social media, and other things too. It's just so exhausting; having to watch what you say or do and how much you think about certain things, having to monitor your own thoughts.

But it's not everything, and I try to remember that every time my brain starts to turn on me. I remember all the smiles and the few friends I managed to make, and the friends I have in my heads and the stories I create for them. I remember the music I listen to and how the lyrics make me feel. I remember that I do have someone there for me.

But then I sometimes I think about how my parents aren't always there for me and I get upset and sad. I just wish that they would take time out of their day and really get to know me. But, they are always busy keeping us afloat while also sinking us into the sea. It's hard some times.

But I forget about that as one song comes up that my aunt had secretly put on my playlist a few weeks after I heard it on the radio in her car. Aunt Alex played Christian music and only Christian music; the same radio station that broadcasts thought out the whole country. I normally figured out what music she had put on a few days after, but this song I hadn't bothered to delete yet.

There was something about it that I just couldn't understand: If God is real, then why do bad things happen? Why am I in this situation? Why is the whole world suffering? If He is real then why hasn't he fixed anything?

Where is He?

My life is a mess and this all-powerful God is nowhere to be seen. There are no little miracles or hidden blessings in the shouts of my parents or in the tears I can't control when my hands shake out of control. I have no hope for a way out because there is no way out. I'm trapped and there is no angel coming to help me out of this. If there is a God, then maybe I'm wrong or maybe he just doesn't exist at all.