I think that's partially why my mother is so cross at me all the time now. I'm leavin soon and we both know it. We both know that I am deserting her and the family. It'll just be her holding up our family...not the both of us. I'm only 18, though, and I'm not sorry. Not sorry that I'm leaving before I become too tired to breathe.

Our house is oppressive. It wasn't always like this, though. Not until this year. This year and my father's illness... and depression. His depression and his illness. He reminds us daily of the mental strain he is constantly undergoing. I can't speak anymore...not here. Not at home. I just stare dumbly ahead. How can he not realize that this is our depression too? Our illness? I love my father so much... but he's so...so oblivious.

And the screaming starts again. Day after day after day... over stupid things. I keep waiting for my mom to walk out for the last time. But, I know she won't. She loves him, just like I do. Besides, she couldn't survive in this world alone. She has no skills and no training. Finding even a part time job proves difficult to her, despite the fact that she is very bright. So we all sit here. My brother and I cowering in various corners of our house, shifting between shadows. Trying not to be noticed. My brother cares less than I, or so he would have you think. He pretends not to notice, only occassionally giving me worried glances. Mostly he withdraws into this comedy(sp?) routines that he has come to adore of late. A coping mechinism, I'm sure. God knows I have a few of my own. Were it only that they were as healthy.

It's quiet here, just now. The episode that occured earlier tonight brushed over. Probably forgotten by my father. My brother and I sit quietly in the computer room, playing at the computer while my mother sits tensely in the den. Listening to my father drone on about politics. We three are all alone in this; my mother, my brother, and myself. Soon it won't even be that.