The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry One-Hundred and Four :.

My name is Elliot Parker. If I am a deliberate creator, why do I feel so out of control right now?

Two weeks ago I decided to surprise my mother. I decided to just stop by her house, yup I said her house. She kicked me out two years ago and put block after block on me visiting her. But I was in the area and I decided to take a little control and stop by and have a chat. That is how the truth came out. She wasn’t home, but the man she had kicked me out for was. The one I didn’t approve of, never had never will. She kicked me out because he was out of prison and she wanted him back in the house.

She had spent months saying they broke up and he was moving out but dragging his heels taking his stuff slowly. So confronted by the site of him opening the door and telling me she wasn’t in I decided now was the best chance I had of knowing the truth.

I asked him if he lived there, he said yes. I asked him if they were still together, he said yes. I asked him how together was together, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and showed me his wedding ring. I asked how long, three years- when he was still in prison. She had lied. Repeatedly. All those times I had asked her about the ring and all she said was it made him feel better about being inside, she denied being married to him, time and again. She had lied again. I didn’t even feel surprised. I don’t think she has ever told me the damn truth. Like an idiot I stood there. Like an idiot I said “so you’re not moving out?”, no was his response. That’s when he invited me in, then I remembered one of what I was about to find out one of her many lies. So I asked him if he was trying to do some kind of harm to me because I didn’t help with his court case he said no, he had no use of me. Another one of her looming dangerous threats and lies disappeared. So I stepped through the door of my old home.

I asked if my dog was about, I couldn’t hear him behind the living room door. He said no. He said my mother had rehomed him months ago. Without my consent. That was it, my baby was gone, the only thing that she could have manipulated and forced me to get back into that house was gone. And it broke my heart, not that she no longer had something to hold over me. But like yet another lie that she had been forcing down my throat telling me, my baby wasn’t really there. My baby was gone, there was no way I could find him or bring him back. There is no way I could bring my JJ home. There was no way I could hug him again, there was no way I could have had the chance to say good bye. He was gone. I was told that Madam as I call my mother, had rehomed him months ago to a farm. I’m not a five-year-old anymore, when people say they rehomed a dog or a pet to a farm it normally translates to the pet was put down. That is when the first seeds of hatred really sprouted up and started to really grow.

I went into the living room, the TV was on and working and it wasn’t at all broken. Unlike what madam had been telling, she had said my boy had thrown a tennis ball into the TV screen and broke it. Trying to get a new TV out of it. Well, that didn’t surprise me, I even asked her *Swallows the bile* husband about the TV if it had ever been broken. He said no. By now disbelief and surprise were impossible. That is when he said something, he had been wanting to contact me recently. That had my interest, he wanted to send me a message to say that he realised now that I hadn’t been blackmailing my mother and that he should never harassed and threatened me by text. I said it would have been impossible for him to message me, I refused to give my mother my new number since I changed it after his messages. I wasn’t surprised that she said I was blackmailing her, because of those messages that when I asked her about it she said it was because he was all up in her face and she had to say something, anything for him to back off. What frustrated me was that she was still trying to sell those lies, even now. Those same old falsehoods. And I was always the villain, no matter what, even when it was entirely her behaviour, her choice, her fault it was always still all blamed on me. I must have seemed pathetic, I felt it right then, another one of her lies, all at her own convenience. Always saving her own damn skin. Always so she can be the victim, so she can garner sympathy, be at the centre of attention, so she can’t be blamed, so she isn’t responsible for her actions. It always had to be my fault. The scapegoat.

I suppose I must have been deer in the headlight a little, I suppose he was too. He even offered me a cup of tea. The man she had told me was threatening me, wanted me dead, was holding a civilised conversation with me and even offered me a cup of tea in the house that I grew up in. I refused, too many bad memories and to be honest, I still didn’t feel safe. I suspect I haven’t felt safe in that house, not really, not once. I was always under some kind of fire.


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