COMPLETED- Mountain Climb

As I drove up to the barn, memories of the moments where my life had all been worthless flooded my mind. I had so much hatred in my heart but I had to eventually let it free. Dylan, my older brother had always been looked upon as the God of the house. Everything he accomplished was what I lacked. My mother would constantly say, “I wish you were the exact version as your brother, you’re just a waste of space and a mother’s burden.”

All I wonder to myself is how I was able to survive all those years. Everyday, I hated myself for being raised by her and my father. My father, Bill on the other hand was on the side of showing emotions through his actions. There are exactly three scars right across my lower back. One I can easily recount was from the moment where Dylan had spilled the cup of coffee onto the white carpet floor that was newly bought. As my father returned home from his long day of work at the barn I had spent the entire afternoon memorizing my speech of who and how the contents leaked out. Yet to my surprise I was introduced immediately to the whip that my dad had kept underneath the couch in the living room. Not once did he question if someone else in the house may have caused the incident.
As I stood out of the truck, these memories kept on swarming in. Each step to the wooden door was a bundle of heavy weight upon my shoulders. I had not visited them for more then 13 years and the last thing I wanted to do was shake either one’s hand or even greet them.
I made it to the door. My first task had beem accomplished.

As I rang the door bell that had spider webs surrounded in all directions I heard my mother yelling out, “Bill get the door and on the way take out the trash, I’m making some dinner here!”
I could hear the creaks of the wooden floors, every step had been my father coming closer to an unexpected guest.
As he slowly opened the door he quickly jumped back in surprise. I could swear that this was finally the first moment ever that I had seen fear rushing through his eyes.
"What are doing here Nate?" my father said in disbelief.
"I came here to see her" I replied back.

"Well...umm..go to the kitchen" he replied quietly.

"Bill!!.. I asked you to take the trash out I ca--..
She saw me right there, there was no escape, this time I was not going to leave and neither could she.
After the long awkward moment of of standing there in mixed emotions she went on asking,

“Would you like some tea?”
After all, the journey home had been over 2 hours. My throat had been extremely dry as if someone had shoved a pile of cement down my esophugus forcefully.
“I would. Thank you.”
“Careful. It’s hot.”
“I usually prefer iced tea.”
“Mmm. I don’t have any.”
“Maybe I can put ice in this tea.”
“But that’s what I’m saying—I don’t have any cubes. Sorry.”

Before she began to utter another word, I could see tears streaming down her face like a violent storm.
I could not look at her anymore. Was she about to give her entire speech of apology and attempt to flush all those years down the toilet?

These memories came back to haunt me again.
I'd crawl up into the closet when everyone would be fast asleep, always making sure that father was a distance away, I feared him.
I would constantly pray for a miracle to take place in my life and that the biterness from my parents would switch around. I'd often cry so hard to sleep and until my eyes would stop producing tears.

I couldn't hold this grudge any longer.

I spoke the words right there out of my lips

"I forgive you."


I left the house, never returning again.

You may be thinking that I am a disgrace to my family for not returning back home to communicate with my parents but try living in my boots for a change.
You try going to counseling for four and a half years for suicide prevention and come back to me.
All I can say now is I feel a whole load of weight that I held for those many years of my chest and now I am free to acomplish any task thrown towards me.