If Walls Could Talk

"If walls could talk, I hope they wouldn't say anything, because they've seen way too many things" - 5SOS

I'm sitting in my room alone, reading a book. I was listening to my favorite song when an outburst of yelling from downstairs suddenly disrupted the tranquil atmosphere. It was my parents, and they were fighting again for the nth time today. I was thinking to myself, "I'm not sure what it is this time. What else could they possibly argue about at this point in time?" I opened my door and walked towards up the stairs when I noticed them coming up the stairs, still yelling and arguing with each other.

I was alone in all four corners of this room. When I'm feeling low, it's been my constant companion. The four walls are the only witnesses to my genuine self. I'm hoping that if walls could talk, they wouldn't say anything since they've seen far too much of what's been happening.

I grew up in a home that was devoid of harmony. Everything is in disarray, with people screaming and yelling. Things were flying all over the place, and there were broken parts everywhere. Why does it turn out to be a broken home when it's intended to be my sanctuary?

When I was four years old, I watched my father yelling in front of my mother, tears welled up in her eyes. They've been bickering about stuff I have no idea about. I dashed towards my mother and hugged her tightly as I noticed my father walking away from us. I yelled for him to return, but he didn't listened to me as if he was deaf. My mother hugged me back and apologized profusely. I'm not sure why she's sobbing; I have no idea what happened; and I'm not sure where our father is going. I'm at a loss for what to do; I'm clueless. I was only a kid at the time.

As I approached the age of ten, their love for each other grew colder and colder. Between them, there were no longer any sparks. Because I was still here, I know they only stayed because of me. I can tell they're both tired just by looking at them. They too want to be free. Whenever they fight, I go into my room and pretend I didn't hear anything. When I heard my mother crying again late at night, I asked what was wrong, and she always said, "nothing."

When I reached the age of 15, I finally realized what the problem appeared to be. My father rarely comes home, and when he does, he will dispute with my mother and always blame everything on me. He even remarked that I should've been aborted while still in my mother's womb, which I heard. His life would not have turned out this way if I hadn't come along. He held me responsible for everything. I believe that my presence is the reason for both of my parents' suffering.

My mother obviously loves me, but does my father really care if I'm unhappy or angry? Because who am I, you were never there when I needed you. To you, I'm simply a nobody.

I cried in my room every night since I had no one to talk to but the walls in my room. I'm depressed and anxiety's wants to take over me, and I blame my entire existence for everything that's been happening.

It's awful to be alone. Living in a shattered home and crying in a dark empty room.

An article dedicated to all people whose living in a broken home.

Ps: This is not my life story. This is just a work of fiction.

08-02-21

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