Don't Burst My Bubble
I did something today that I've never done before: I locked my bedroom door. Most people would raise an eyebrow and say, "Well, that's silly. Most teenagers lock their doors so their parents won't walk in on them doing something they shouldn't be." I laugh at this. If anyone is ever going to be trusted, then we need to damn all locks and learn how to knock.
My parents always knock on the door if they want to come in. And why shouldn't they? If I'm doing anything wrong, it's either to spite them or because I don't know it's wrong. Or because they told me to do something that I think is wrong. All parents are fucked, but you gotta' love 'em. If you don't, then why are you sitting in front of the computer at your house reading this? What if your mom or dad walks in and tells you that reading this is wrong? Did they just storm in, or did they knock? Or is your door locked?
Don't get me wrong, I love my parents. Without them I wouldn't be alive, let alone the person I am today. "Do what you want," they told me, "but we don't want you locking your door." What's the difference between locking a door and locking a heart? Naughty teens who come home accompanied by a friend lock their doors because, "My parents wouldn't understand." A suicidal person locks the door because, "Nobody cares."
I lock the door because they do understand, and they do care.
A full page of mindless dribble written here. A whole page! And it doesn't make sense, because it's mindless. It's just a rambling that angst-filled teens can relate to, even if it is confusing. Because deep down they know I'm right, and they feel what I'm feeling. It just hasn't hit them yet.
Let me make sense, now, of these locked doors and loving parents: I was always under the influence that my parents loved each other.
No, that's a bad way to start; my parents do love each other. Let's try again:
Remember when you were growing up, maybe around the ages of 4-8, and the world was like a shining bubble? When you looked into that bubble, you'd see a reflection of yourself and your family, maybe a few friends. You "oo-ed" and "ah-ed" and longed for the bubble to grow so it would encompass you. And then you hit ten, and then thirteen, and you realize how distorted the reflection is. Everyone looks elongated and curved, making even a smile look demonic. But you don't care because you're looking through, not at, the bubble. Looking forward towards high school and the world of being a teenager. But before you know it, you are that teenager. Start looking at the bubble again, back at the world of your childhood when everything was wonderful and everyone was happy. You reach out for that bubble, wanting to grasp it in your heart forever. And then, pop! It's gone with the slightest amount of pressure. Enter the world of teen angst, where you blame yourself for ruining that bubble's beauty and look out at life with a frown, believing it's all your fault.
Despite my desperate attempt to go past that and reach adulthood, I made a mistake. I looked back and burst my bubble.
Even though I knew that it would happen eventually, why did I do it? Because I longed for such times, just as every teenager does. And woe-be-tied to those who seek out help from their parents! They won't talk with you about it for more than a night before pushing you into a guidance counselor's office. Your parents, who have raised you and loved you every second of your life, force you to open up to someone you've never met before. That's not right; that's not right…
And then your parents start blaming their parents and the entire process repeats itself. At least, it did in my family. My mother is, apparently, not mentioned once in my father's will. After years of keeping him out of a nursing home and seeing him everyday, nothing. Not a knut; not even a welcome mat. So, as I was sitting in the kitchen, looking for something finger-lickin' good, I hear her yell, "You didn't want to ruin our marriage? Well, you just did! You just ruined our marriage!" A ruined marriage is a ruined childhood.
CLICK goes the lock on my bedroom door. Damn them for caring and loving me. And damn me for not wanting it. And, finally, damn these pages of my Potions binder, which give me a chance to fuck up someone else's day.
Snape closed the spiral notebook that sat on his desk. He had found the log amidst Draco's homework, and now he understood the reason why the boy was being even more temperamental as of late. Christmas vacation at home with an arguing family…it reminded him of his childhood. He looked out the small window of his office and sighed. He could see his "bubble", as Draco put it, because he never let it pop; he never tried to reach it. He had never wanted to return to childhood.
But it was as he saw another suffer that he turned to this, his "bubble".
Pop!