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The Life Of "Mars".
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2016-12-01 03:56:49 (UTC)

The Finale

Thursday 1st December, 2016

Year 10, last year, was a very difficult time for me. My mom's schizophrenia kept getting progressively more violent and scary.

I was lucky enough to have a few good teachers that year, unlike in year 9. There was Miss Garside, a blonde English teacher. She was so kind and incredible. I didn't like how a lot of the kids in my class treated her. They'd be pretty rude and disrespectful towards her just for the sake of it, I don't know if they found her getting pissed off to be funny or whatever. Then they'd be like, "Man Misses Garside is such a bitch." and I'd be thinking "Mate maybe if you just weren't a dick she wouldn't tell you off all the time." I mean me and her had a pretty good relationship. Me and Te Maunga were like the class pets hah, I mean we both tied for top of our English class so that was cool. This year whenever we saw each other in the hallways we'd smile and say hi briefly to each other.

I had a really nice science teacher too. Again, kids were dicks to her too. Which was even more weird because she was a lot more relaxed then Misses Garside. She was a German teacher and admittedly, and I sound like a cunt for this, but I couldn't always understand her because of her accent. But I would never say anything because in my head, saying "Miss I can't hear what you're saying because of your accent." Is a dick move.

The social studies teacher I had was pretty cool as well. He was from America and had this hard as American accent. We didn't exactly have a close relationship or anything like I had with my English or science teacher, but I mean we got along well enough.

My P.E teacher was cool too. I wasn't the most fit kid, nor was I really unfit. I was just kind of in the middle. But yeah, again I wasn't really close with her but she was cool and nice towards me. In P.E we'd play dodgeball a lot and I think I got a bleeding nose once because I got in the face. So yeah that happened. Actually I was pretty good at dodgeball because I'm small and nimble so I was deadass be dodging balls and shit.

My maths teacher was pretty cool too, I mean I was still pretty shit at maths overall but he was cool too.

I had classics as well, and I've had the same teacher for classics for three years now so me and him get along a lot. He's pretty silly but overall funny and relaxed about things. Not gonna lie at times I'm pretty sure he's smoking something before class.

Anyway, despite having some pretty good teachers I still didn't really show up to class that much like in year 9. In fact I only started regularly turning up to class in term four.

I didn't really get a long with too many of the kids in my class either. Callum, Liam, Jaime were all put into learning support together. So it was me Tyler and Te Maunga. Except Tyler and Te Maunga weren't really friends, like at all. In fact Tyler sometimes would be like, "Yo why are you even friends with him?" There was two kids who I really didn't like. Levi and Connor. Let's just say it got to the point where I think I almost fought them a few times. Levi I'm not gonna hold anything against him. I think he tried to "make up" with me or be nice a few times, but I dunno. I was kinda petty and angry about things so I'm pretty sure I told him to fuck off each time he tried to apologise or whatever.

For term three and four I had two classes in business studies and economics. I found them pretty easy for the most part and ended up getting excellence for most assignments that we did, but I didn't really like the classes. I found them pretty boring for the most part and they gave me a headache.

For business we did this pretend business thing where we'd literally sell a product. We'd buy the product with our own money and hopefully earn profit, or at least break even. I almost failed that, and I'll tell you why. Me and this kid called Dylan, who I was sort of friends with, partnered up. We were going to sell ice-cream at school. It's a basic idea I know but I didn't feel like putting a whole lot of effort into actually making something. We sold ice-cream right next the canteen. This was a bit of a 'eh' move. I mean we had massive competition because this is where a few other kids set up their businesses. As well as we had the actual school canteen to worry about. But it was a spot in the school where the most kids would gather in any one spot. So we figured that'd be the best place. We had made posters too to promote our ice-cream stall. "Come and get yourself a heart meal of ice-cream." Yeah. But everybody would tear down each others posters to take away their customers and therefor competition.

My real problem with well running a food business is I felt bad for people. We had a heap of ice-cream, and even for an extra $1.00 you could have chocolate sauce. Thing is, if people were slightly short on change I'd be like, "Eh fuck it" and give it to them anyway. Sometimes I'd even give it to some kids for free, if I knew they didn't have any food. I know, bad bossiness mood. But eh, oh well. We only lost about $6 dollars so I wasn't bothered at all.

Jaime came to me at one point when he was really upset about something. There was this whole thing with his mom and step dad, I'm not going to go into massive detail but his mom tried to kill herself. When he said, "I'm telling you this because your my best friend." I was kind of happy, I mean later that is. I wasn't gonna be happy at a time when my friends mom tried doing that.

Throughout the year there was a lot of beef between my mom and our next door neighbors, as well as the ones in front of us. But the second one was worse, they'd always constantly argue to the point where the police would be called. They made threats to my moms life, and my mom did the same to them. I think there was a point where my mom started crying because one of them hurled a massive rock at our house and it sounded like glass breaking. I was really tempted to go out and smack the neighbor for that, the only reason why I didn't is because my mom stopped me because she thought he'd kill me. I would of probably gotten my ass beat anyway, since he was a big dude. But still.

Also, throughout the year her ideas on Greg, Sean, Mark and Daniel kept changing a lot too. And it was bad. She sometimes believed that our neighbors, when they weren't arguing, were them. Yeah. Even though the looked exactly the same she was convinced that they were them. And that they had just "dressed up" as them. She, at points, even believed that my friends were them.

She got the idea that Bill Gates, yep Bill Gates, was her biological father. And Marilyn Monroe was her mom. That she was related to God and Jesus Christ. She got some scary ideas from relations too. That she was related to Hitler. To Vlad the Impaler. So many people of power in history she thought she was related to. Vlad, one of his most imfamous execution techniques was to like impale someone. Sometimes she'd talk about "doing a Vlad to someone" which meant that she thought about having someone impaled.

She was pretty racist about things too. She hated anybody who wasn't white, which is pretty weird because my mom is somewhat dark skinned herself, since she's half Maori. But she'd be really aggressive to Asians, Maoris, Vietnamese people. She'd talk about gunning down villages in Vietnam. She'd say things like, "God I hate you fucking blacks." (Despite being half black herself).

She'd get ideas that people were replaced as robots. But it was okay because they were "our" robots created by "my dads". I think it got to the point where she thought the whole of New Zealand were robots, except for me of course. Hell, she even thought our animals were.

I kept hearing about people getting brutally tortured too. They kept getting increasingly violent. There was talk about chopping off peoples heads and feeding it to their families. Making moms eat their new born babies, hell even the aborted fetuses. I was actually going insane from hearing that. Day after day. Night after night there was no escape from it. There were times at night where I'd sit on my bed in fetal position just contemplating death. I became suicidal from it. I cut my arms up and down and scoffed a bunch of pills at one point in some pathetic attempt to kill myself. I only ended up making myself sick for a few days.

I became angry a lot. I mean really angry. I hated things. I hated life itself really. What was worse is my feelings were never really ever accepted. Whenever I'd get mad she'd think that it was my dads doing that to me through some weird satellite chemical thing because they had "made a deal" with our enemies to do that to me. Every feeling of annoyance, anger or sadness was disregarded. Which in turn, made me angrier.

I started arguing with my mom a lot. I had lost all patience, compassion and understanding for her. I never said anything about it to her before because there were still times where she'd be so happy because of her delusions. But it was killing me. I started yelling at her, "They're not fucking real mom! None of what you think is! Get some fucking help!" I know, that was probably the worst way I could of handled it. But I had been so emotionally drained for three years to the point where I couldn't hold back anymore. I started arguing with her on a daily basis. And I kept getting angrier with her. I started punching the wall a lot and eventually I would go outside into our backyard and punch this one big fat tree until my knuckles were bloody. I started to suffer legitimate migraines where my head would begin pulsing nonstop. At one point it got so bad I even passed out.

My head would constantly be spinning and it started to feel hard to stand at times. I came so close to telling the school so many times.

I wanted to fight my neighbors even more now too because towards the end of the year they started partying a lot, which annoyed my mom, which in turn made her delusions come out a lot more, which then pissed me off.

One night, right before I was about to go to bed. We started arguing again, and it was incredibly bad. She was in complete denial about being schizophrenic. She'd tell me, "I'm not fucking crazy "Mars" just shut the fuck up!". At some point during our argument while we were both standing very close to each other she picked up a pair of scissors and flung it at me. I quickly put my hand in front of my face and the blade cut inwards deep. I didn't even realized it had until later however because my adrenaline surged. My fight or flight mode kicked in. You can judge me all you want about this next bit, I don't care. It's what happened and I'm just writing the truth on here. I hit her. Hard. Quite a few times. I beat up my own mom. I'm fuckin scum, aren't I? But all that rage that I had been holding in, all those nights where I cried myself to sleep, where I faked a smile just because it kept her happy, it all disappeared. I pinned her down by her arms on the floor and said I was going to leave, and once she stopped resisting I quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbed a kitchen knife and bolted back to my room. I grabbed the knife because I legitimately did not feel safe around her.

All I remember is hearing he screaming and crying in the lounge. Blaming my dads for what had happened. I feel asleep at some point. I didn't go to school the next day. I didn't even leave my room for about two days. At all. My mom tried to come in a few times but I would yell at her and tell her to fuck off.

We in the last few days of December, moved houses. I suppose it is good now. We're in a more scheduled place where our neighbors aren't loud as fuck. My mom hasn't had a thing where she's talked to herself all year, at least while I've been in the house I think. That's not to say it's gone. You can't get rid of schizophrenia. You can only ease it. I think her new medication has helped. I think learning to try and spend a bit more time with her has helped as well. But I can still pick up on the signs, when I think she's at least hearing voices. I can see it. I don't know if this is a universal thing since I'm still not too educated on schizophrenia, but I think her voices come out more when there's a lot of loud noises. Mainly people being loud.

We act like nothing has happened now, and I kind of wonder if she even remembers any of it. Don't get me wrong, despite all of this I still love my mom dearly. You must also understand, she's been through a lot as a kid. My grandad, he was abusive physically and mentally to say the least. Which is fucked because to me he's always seemed quite the opposite, but I know this is a fact from other family members. I got told once that he shot my grandmom in a bar, because she refused to come home. I didn't believe it at first. I didn't believe it for awhile. I was in denial about it I guess. I mean the sweet old man who I've known all my life, killed someone, killed his wife? But one day my curiosity got the best of me. While I'm pretty sure you can't find actual police records online in New Zealand by law, I was able to find after hours of research an old news paper article about it. It was true. It didn't go into a whole lot of detail, but I didn't need detail. What was worse is apparently because my mom was in the car while she got driven the bar, she was outside the bar and saw it happen through the window. That must of been devastating. She's told me that she's been molested before by one of her foster parents, and I believe her. I think all of that, and more, has played a factor into why she is the way she is. I love my mom. I would always try to protect her no matter what.

But, and I hate to say this, even though I still love my mom dearly, I feel there is some part of me that kind of resents her almost. I can't quite put my finger on it, nor do I know how to properly explain it. I think those years played a bit of a part into how I am now as a person. This sucks to say, but I don't really fear losing people too much like I used to. I mean I feel I lost my mom for a few years with that whole incident. An example is Jaime, losing him hurt. But, well, and this is shitty to say... but I feel it didn't hurt me as much as it should of... I don't blame her for it don't get me wrong, but still. I don't really fear anything actually. Not the dark. Not of ghosts. Not of people. Not of dangerous situations. Nothing. Not even death its self. That sounds emo as hell, but I mean it. That's not to say I want to die, I mean I'd fight to live if I was ever in a situation that needed me to, I just don't think me dying is scary. Which is weird since I used to be really afraid of the idea. I feel that whole ordeal shifted and cracked my mind a little bit.

I think of those lost few weeks as kind of a finale for like a book. I mean all of our lives are sort of books in a way aren't they? Each year, or even month is a new chapter. That was just the finale of that book, and the present is the sequel to it.

Peace, -Mars