Sunnikazu

United States of America

Daily Routines.

February 19, 2019

FREE WRITING

3
       Psychological issues are such a controversy, aren’t they? Romanticized and faked on the internet by people who could hardly understand what it’s truly like to have such issues; disputed and disbelieved by the general public on whether they’re real or not. Why, I’d say everyone has some psychological issue, even if they don’t know it. That’s how I reason it to be normal. As normal as, per se, a daily routine? Daily routines are a very important part of today’s society. You wake up, you get ready for school or for work, etc. Upon further research, it’s been said that having a daily routine is completely normal, and also very healthy. Routines are something you can build not only your schedule, but your entire life around! Everyone has a different routine, but still. Once you have a routine, there’s no reason you should break it, right?
   
    A man walked into his house to greet his wife. He had just gotten off work; a well paying 9-5 job. She'd ask him how work was, and he'd reply with the usual. They'd sit down at the table -or rather, he'd sit at the table while she prepared dinner- and continue the small talk as any normal couple would. From his seat he couldn't help but blankly stare at the door directly in front of him. That door led to his son's room. It never seemed to open.

Once dinner was ready, the wife would bring a small plate to the closed door. This always made the man mad.

    Why bother, he would ask in an irritated tone. It doesn’t matter what we give him or how much we give him- he doesn’t appreciate a thing, the ungrateful brat.

    The woman ignored the insults, yet made no effort to correct the man. She wanted to understand why her child never ate, smiled, or even did something as simple as coming out of his room to talk. She didn’t want to believe that it was because he hated them and didn’t care. But nothing else made sense.
I made your favorite. The woman set the plate on a nightstand that she had positioned next to the door. On good days a small portion of the food would be gone by morning, but before she could even begin to ponder if today was a good day for her son, she heard the all too familiar sound of a beer bottle cap hitting the tile floor. Clink, clink. It was the woman’s turn to be irritated.

   The boy sat in his room with his eyes closed. It didn’t take much concentration to hear the yelling beyond his door, but it took concentration to forget it was there. His cursed stomach screamed with agony- a friendly reminder that it was the third day he hadn’t eaten. He stood up and instantly felt lightheaded. Once it had passed, he moved to the pristine mirror he kept resting against the wall. With a disappointed glance at what the mirror had to offer, he went to lay back in his bed. He was so used to hearing the front door slam that he didn’t even flinch.

    The man stared at the front door as it slammed, then with a sigh turned back towards the door to his sons room. He couldn’t even remember what the inside looked like. Upon trying, he was rewarded with memories of his biggest mistake.
I've given you everything! I've taken care of you since you were born, and given you everything! I work hard, so hard, to make sure you and your mother are well off- all I've ever done, is make your life easy- and you just take it for granted!

    He took a sip of his beer.

    You sit in your damn room, failing your damn classes, without even thinking about speaking to your mother or god forbid my humble self! The only thing you care about in this world is music- no, the video-games. Or is it? I don't know, you don't tell me anything!

    And another.

    All you ever say is how miserable you are, living in one of the best houses in the neighborhood, going to a nice private school, without a care in the world! How dare you leave! How dare you! I've given you everything! You worthless, ungrateful, lying, lazy, lack of a human. 

    He ran his finger over the label, trying to understand why his son hated him. Why his wife couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him, most times. He wanted so desperately to understand why his son acted the way he did. He had everything, yet wanted nothing. Enjoyed nothing. Not even food anymore. Why won’t he just tell me what he’s thinking? Why doesn’t he love me?

    Inside his room, the boy was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. This, along with listening to music, was his favorite pastime. Staring, and pondering. He wondered if his mother would come back again. She always has, but she’d want to escape sometime, wouldn’t she? He knew he’d like to. Though he felt safe within his cage of a room, a cage is still a cage. To exit would only result in judgement and yelling- the yelling he knew all too well. The yelling is what had created the cage, molded it. The yelling is what told him he ate too much. The yelling is why he loved to listen to music; you can’t hear the yelling when you’re listening to music.

    What felt like a punch to the stomach reminded him again that he hadn’t eaten in over a day. With a sigh, he decided he’d see what his mother had left him outside the door. He only hoped his father had fallen asleep at the table, less he interact with him. Upon opening the door, he discovered his father to be there with bloodshot eyes and tears rolling down his cheeks.

    Son? Son, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about the yelling. You know I didn’t mean any of it, right? You father just had too much to drink, that’s all. Your father had a little too much to drink and said things he didn’t mean. You can forgive your father, can’t you? You know I love you. I love you so much, even if you’re in your room all the time. Why don’t you ever talk to me? I love you so much, why don’t you ever come say hi? Are you hungry? That food your mother cooked you must be cold by now, why don’t we go get some burgers? We haven’t done that in so long, heh, going out to get some burgers. Why don’t we do that? You can eat as much as you like, and you won’t even have to say a thing. Just come spend some time with me, won’t you? Won’t you talk to your father for once? Please?

    As with listening to the front door slam, the boy didn’t even react to his father’s little speech. He had heard too many versions, too many times. He knew it was just a trap for him. He knew he would be lured in to his father’s venomous fangs of belittlement, only to be bitten with every word his father spoke. He had heard enough of the truth- he didn’t need to listen to it anymore. Disgusted by the thought of burgers, and subsequently more weight they would bring, the boy returned to his room.

    And there you have it. A daily routine. After all, routines are only normal, aren’t they?
Entry for Xavier Nelson's Psychological Contest.

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