I am literally so angry right now I’m shaking. We. Are. Moving. After spending almost four years living in Manhattan with my new Dad, my fucking mom (General Motors) is making me move back to the suburbs of Detroit. Where literally nothing happens.
Of course, because she has to have everything her way, she kicked him out after only a few years and here we fucking are. I have to give up everything about my city life, which was frankly great. My dad was cool, he liked hashtags, I was away from Mother. I even went to go see Taking Back Sunday and Suicide Silence with my friends the XTS and CT6, but now they’re dead too.
I might as well be.
Mother has even dragged me to Los Angeles this week for the LA Auto Show so I’m going full goth in protest.
I’m painting it all black—my front grilles, window moldings, body side moldings and more. I’m coloring in my fingernails with black sharpie and layering on the black eyeliner for that raccoon look. I’m packing away all of my chic city clothes and going with a black hoodie, black jeans and a pair of beat-up Vans I found on the curb. I’ve dyed my hair black with dye I found on sale at Hot Topic and I have an appointment to get my snake bites piercing done this afternoon.
The paparazzi didn’t waste time with my new name, the 2019 Cadillac Escalade Sport Edition. When they talk to me, I don’t answer, I just flip my bangs back and turn up the Hawthorne Heights in my head:
And I can’t make it on my own.
(And I can’t make it on my own.)
Because my heart is in Ohio.
So cut my wrists and black my eyes.
(Cut my wrists and black my eyes)
So I can fall asleep tonight, or die.
Because you kill me.
You know you do, you kill me well.
You like it too, and I can tell.
You never stop until my final breath is gone.
Mother hasn’t asked me what’s wrong, even though my silence is deafening. But I don’t care what she thinks. I’m not okay and my home life is a goddamn mess.
Three cheers for apathy. This is my new reality.