So perhaps I wasn’t making the wisest decision when I punched my bookshelf five times and managed to swell my knuckle up to twice its normal size, bruised and all.
I got in a very big argument with my brother. He was calling me a lot of very rude and derogatory names, pretending to be the adult of the house (as my parents are both away on vacations) and making all these rules. For the record, I am 21 and he is 25. I am an adult as he is, yet he is making it so I am not allowed to leave the house and if I disobey him, he’ll kick me out on the curb with no jacket or anything. Mind you, it is very cold outside, and snowing like crazy.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I am an adult, right? Like, pretty sure 18 is legally adult age and I’m, what, three years superior to that? So, correct me again if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I have human rights and I am to be treated as an adult and human being. Right? Yes, right.
So I should be allowed to do as I please, not treated like I am a 12-year-old child who has a curfew by someone who is only four years older than me. FOUR. Not forty-four. Just four.
I feel like a prisoner in my own house. And no, I refuse to use the term home because this place is anything but.
So, my knuckle is still throbbing and I’m still on the verge of tears, but whatever. I’ll go to sleep, get up tomorrow, and do it all over again. And everyone says “just smile.”