Back to Normal

by 0shes_thundersto0rms0

Summary:

First time posting. Wrote this at night while being sick. We will be seeing how this will go.

June 7:

Every night it's the same routine: Get home, take a shower, brush my teeth, do my hair, type up some notes, and go to sleep. It's become a part of me. And I refuse to give it up.

I have some severe self-gaslighting issues. Every night, when I go to sleep, I tell myself that everything'll go back to normal.

They never do.

I got to sleep and dream that life is back to normal. Mom is back home and Dad is social. The sun is out and the sea is back. Everything is normal. Everything. Is. Normal.

Maybe one day everything'll be normal again. Maybe one day Mom'll be pestering me to not forget to take my pills. Dad'll be telling her to "stop being a wet rag" and then start to mimic her accent to make me feel better. I used to say how much I hated having severe allergies and how I'd do anything for them to go away, but now I miss them. I now miss them because even when my eyes were red and puffy from pollen, I still had my old life back. Now my eyes are normal, but my life is gone.

 

June 14:

It's officially been a year and a half since Mom left. I don't think she's coming back. That Snicket kid keeps me on my feet, not like before, but he still keeps me up. He always has some mystery to solve and I somehow get roped in.

Mom used to give me her my books from when she was young. They're all in French, though, so I have to translate them. That's not fun. But now I'm happy to have to translate them. It makes me feel closer to her.

 

July 6:

I'm grounded. I stayed out too late and got hurt. Dad was pissed at me and called me "irresponsible". As if. I actually get out of the house, unlike him. It's unfair. I never asked to get hurt, I just had the misfortune of being the punching bag.

I should have wrote that about dad. He's grieving, just like me. We have two very different ways of grieving, though, and that's fine. That's completely fine. I just wish I wasn't called irresponsible. I miss Mom. She never would've let me get hurt.

 

July 9:

I can't type so now I have to write. I never really practiced my right hand when it came to writing. Mom used to pressure me to use both hands. I now see why. It's so impossibly hard to just write. I'll keep practicing, though. I'll get better and be like all those people you hear in the news. The ambidextrous ones. The ones who get called freaks. I'm not very sure how they're freaks, though. They just have a cool talent. Dad's ambidextrous, but I haven't seen him write in ages.

 

July 21:

I was kidnapped. Can you believe that? I was kidnapped and drugged. Now I understand when Mom always told me never to go into abandoned buildings. Who knows what'll happen. The worse part was, Dad yelled at me. Told me to "stop running around and just stay put like you were taught". I didn't want to be kidnapped. We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

And my typewriter was smashed. That stung. It used to be Mom's. She'd kill me if she could out some bastard broke her precious typewriter. That thing was amazing. I got a new one, though. It's not as sentimental, but it's neat. It's nice and tidy, just how I like things.

 

August 3:

It's all over. Lemony Snicket killed Hangfire. He pushed him into the mouth of the beast. Right in front of his own daughter. I can't wrap my head around any of it. Lemony Snicket murdered Hangfire, no, Armstrong Feint. in front of Ellington. It just doesn't make sense. Maybe I was blind. Maybe it's all a dream. I'm scared. I'm usually not scared, just curious. I'm now scared.

Dad's livid at me. Told me to "stay in my room and think about what I've done". I haven't don't anything. I was just a spectator in that show. Another pawn in the chess game. I didn't like it. I got mad at dad and rose my voice. I wasn't trying to be disrespectful, but I was just so tired and scared and confused and words were just slipping out. And he hit me. I think it was in the heat of the moment, but it still hurt. Mom wouldn't have let Dad hit me. She would've scolded him.

 

August 12:

I think I'm too caught up in the past. Dad's telling me it's unhealthy. I think it's fine. I'm perfectly sane. Dad thinks it's the whole train ordeal catching up to me. He says I might need therapy. I don't need therapy. I have everything I need. I'm perfectly content. I'm okay.

 

August 19:

Dad's sending me to a therapist in the city. He had a friend there that's going to take me in. I don't want to leave. Dad tells me I may see Mom there. That's the only thing I'm excited for. Otherwise, I'm scared. I don't want to leave Dad, or Cleo, or Kellar, or Jake, or Ornette, or Pip and Squeak, or Lizzie, or anyone, for a matter of fact. But I have to listen. And he's making me leave my diary and typewriter here, so I'm not able to write for an entire six months.

I hate this. I do t like the fact that I'm being sent from home and I'm not even allowed to bring my diary or typewriter. I hate this. I wish everything was back to normal.

Notes:

Just tell me how you liked it, please 🙏