#two can play the Bible game 🖕

[v-tired-queer]

⚠️ Post trigger warnings: mentions of people being queerphobic, mentions of past mental and emotional abuse, mentions of using religion to justify being a jerk, descriptions of physical symptoms of anxiety, mentions of parents passing away

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It took me two months and a bit to realize that the way the inside of my body suddenly feels cold, the way my stomach feels like its dropped, why I need to take deeper breaths to feel like I'm actually getting good air, and the way my body starts to shake uncontrollably around WICS (Woman I Can't Stand--it's the most polite thing I can call her) is all due to a panic response. I haven't had a panic attack since high school, so suddenly going back to having physical symptoms of my anxiety threw me for a loop. I thought I was dehydrated.

It's such a strange sensation for me. Mentally, I'm not really panicking, at least not at the forefront of my mind. WICS can't do anything to me. She has no say in what does or doesn't happen in this house, she doesn't live here, and she can't do anything with my stuff. The worst she can do (and continues to do) is run her mouth and be, simply put, mean and annoying. I wondered why she, specifically, invokes such a strong reaction out of me, and then I realized: she's just enough like everyone who's abused me all rolled into one.

She's mentally and emotionally tormented me since the day I had to decide to take my mother off of life support in ways that my ex step-father would be proud of. She hides behind religion to excuse her bigotry and carries around a self righteous attitude that makes my dad look like an atheist. She argues with her mother more than my parents did, and that took up 90% of my childhood. She mouths off about me and voices her very loud objections about the way I live my life (in relation to me being queer) to everyone she can behind my back like we're in high school. And the one time I had a seizure around her she chose to do absolutely nothing--not even put a pillow under my head--and complain about me to her sister on the phone instead, like basic first aid is a privilege I don't deserve.

Just one more week, give or take. One more week and then I'll be out of this God forsaken house and away from these people for the rest of my life. I won't have to deal with her or anyone else here anymore. I'll be safe. I'll be okay. I can finally move forward.

And the best part that probably makes me at least a little bit petty? They don't know when I'm leaving, which means they don't know when my brother will be coming by for the appliances and shelves that belonged to our mother.

Hey, we're just following Biblical law: it says that he, being both the son and the oldest, inherited our parents belongings when they passed. He agreed to take said he wanted them, and it's his right to have them. Sorry, WICS. She'll just have to get her own coffee maker and kitchen shelves 💁🏼😌