Can't Wait For That First Apartment

When I was a young girl - maybe 14 or so - I had a best friend named Sheila S. We were supremely good friends, and spent many, many a day and sleep-over night dreaming about the day when we were going to move out of our parents houses and rent an apartment together. It was going to be the best EVER! We'd stay up late and nobody would bitch, watch whatever we wanted and nobody would bitch, wear what we wanted, spend time with the guys we wanted to, decorate the way we wanted to - again, it was going to be the best EVER!

Sheila and I never got that apartment. By the time we were old enough I had already had one son and was well on my way to being pregnant with my second. And married.

Now I'm 34 years old and I can not wait until my oldest son gets his first apartment. I think that's going to be the best day EVER!

I needed that dream of an apartment when I was a teenager for many reasons. I compare them with today - 20 years later....

THEN: My parents screaming at each other, throwing things, and slamming doors.
NOW: My oldest son yelling at everyone, throwing things where they don't belong, and slamming doors.

THEN: Scurrying up off the sofa and darting from the room when I heard my parent's truck pull into the driveway because I knew one of them would have something pissy to say - taking some of their own shit out on me.
NOW: Scurrying up off of the sofa and trying to look busy when I hear my oldest son's footsteps approaching because I know he's going to have something pissy and mean to say to me - taking some of his own shit out on me.

THEN: I was going to be able to revel in the silence like I had never done before.
NOW: There is no silence, and if there is it usually means someone is pissed off, which makes me feel small and as if I should retreat to my room.

THEN: I was going to decorate our apartment in the coolest, hippest way - anything that struck my fancy. Anything that made me happy.
NOW: I am not allowed to decorate as my oldest son has taken all of my decoration attempts and trashed them, changed them, or ruined the things I was going to decorate with to begin with.
THEN: I was going to have long, long quiet talks with MEN.
NOW: If either me or my husband can get a solid sentence out the other doesn't know how to react. We are always on guard - why is it that we can suddenly have a conversation??? Oh, never mind - here comes someone to bitch about something.

THEN: I was going to have a lot of cats. I love cats, and I wanted many of them.
NOW: As fucked up as it sounds, my son takes my cats from me and makes them his own. I got a kitten recently who is sick, and I don't have the emotional strength to take care of her - OR hear any more bitching about her. She has to go back to the pound. I just wanted a snuggly kitten.

THEN: I was going to have a key to my apartment. My parents didn't give me a key to our house - I had to use the spare key if it was there, and quite often had to break in.
NOW: I don't actually know if I have a key to my own house. I have a key ring, but I have never once had to lock the door because I never go anywhere. If I had a key, my oldest son probably took it and lost it.

THEN: I was going to listen to my music, which was so important to me. I couldn't listen to my music at home because my father was always blaring - at an insane volume - classical music, and I had gotten in trouble for going to sleep with my clock-radio on.
NOW: I don't have a working stereo. Well, the stereo works, but not the DVD player - and even if it did work I wouldn't be able to play "my" music because some kid would most likely be watching TV or made me scurry out of the room because of his pissiness.

THEN: I was going to have a telephone on my night stand. It took FOREVER for my parents to wire a phone to my room - and actually, they never even did that. They wired it to my sister's room. I poked a hole in the wall after she moved out and ran the cord into my room - which is how I got a phone.
NOW: If I had a phone on my night stand it wouldn't ring for me. I don't have a night stand. I also feel guilty every time I even look at my telephones because my oldest son paid for them. (Long story.)

THEN: I was going to have amazing dinnerware and glasses. My parents threw plates and glasses and broke them all. One of the first things I ever did for my mother after I moved out of the house was to buy her an expensive set of beautiful glasses to replace the mismatched cheap ones she had. I fucking HATED the Corelle dinnerware we had. It was white with little blue flowers around the rims of everything.
NOW: My children have broken all of the dishes and glasses that I love or loved. I cannot get attached to anything because I know I'll just end up losing it. My dishes and glasses are mismatched, and I hate my coffee cups.

THEN: I was going to decorate my bedroom with luxurious fabrics because I'd never had such things, but had seen them and loved them.
NOW: My oldest son has taken for his own many bedding items of mine in his lifetime. I gave up a long time ago. When he was younger he'd make tents and poke or tear holes in blankets and curtains. I had to stop fighting him on this or I would have gone insane. I have walked into his room on occasions too numerous to count, and seen a blanket or comforter that I loved being used as a fort. Poles run through it and everything.

THEN: I was going to have privacy. I had none as a kid. There were no locks on my bedroom or bathroom door. My parents entered without knocking - often times throwing the door open. Many, many times my door would fly open simply because my father would stomp up the stairs and SLAM his bedroom door shut after a fight with my mom. It's a noise I'll never forget.
NOW: I hear the echoes of this door-slamming now in the way my son stomps around and slams things. And as for my privacy? It's not totally just he alone that has taken this from me, but geez, I can't even go to the bathroom without someone asking where I am. My oldest son will come down out of his bedroom while I'm standing outside the door smoking and just STAND THERE saying nothing. If I ask "What's up?" or "How's it going?" in even a very gentle tone of voice - he'll sigh and say "Nothing." and then walk off. If I ask him what's wrong he says I wouldn't care to listen and then walk off. All I wanted to do was smoke a cigarette and watch the goddamn little birds on the bird feeder - not get more guilt rammed into my gut because I did or said the wrong thing while trying to catch a quiet moment.

THEN: My apartment was going to be serene. A haven. A place that would be the polar opposite of what I had growing up.
NOW: My home is like an insane asylum. It is exactly the same as it was when I was growing up except the players have changed. My son has replaced BOTH my mother and father - something I never thought possible. My father was an manic alcoholic with serious self-esteem issues, and a sex addiction. I love him, and may he rest in peace, but I simply couldn't take the perverted sense of humor any more when I was a kid. My son is not an alcoholic, pervert, nor is he addicted to sex that I know of - however, he is manic depressive as far as I can tell - just like my father and mother were. A lot more like my father was.

I was planning on escaping and making a new life. I didn't think having children would affect that so greatly. I thought I could make them BE different. I succeeded with at least one of them - but the oldest? I just don't know what to do but say that I really think that when he moves out and gets his own place that I'll have a lot - a whole lot - less anxiety and fear.

Maybe I'll stop jumping up and scurrying out of his way just to avoid the guilt, frustration, fear, and sometimes-resentment.

Maybe I'll be able to live those "first apartment dreams" finally. Wouldn't THAT be THE best day EVER

*sigh*