Some people tell me I have too much pride, and it's mostly my mother, but I really do. I blame it on my Padre though. He always tells us, me especially, that we have to be the best at everything we do, whether it be academics, sports, band, ect. Always do we have to be the best, go above and beyond all the others. He tells us to be better than him. He never got the opportunities we get today, so we need to embrace what we have and do what we can to be the best, to succeed.
Sometimes I feel that without that pressure to succeed I wouldn't be where I am today. My best work is when I'm under pressure. But as I sit here, arguing with him on this topic, I think I regret having too much pride, and the fact that I won't be the bigger man and stop this makes me hate it even more. Padre tells us to be better than him, but we can never be smarter than him because of what he knows and went through that we didn't.
"I. Could. Get. Up." I say through clenched teeth recalling the day I fell in the snow.
"Don't talk to your father like that!" My mother exclaims at me. "Show some respect burro."
Tears well up in my eyes, but I don't let them fall. I can't show weakness, not again. Never again. I read somewhere that if you look up, people won't be able to tell that you're crying. With my parents though, you always have to look them straight in the eyes when you speak.
"Nope! You couldn't get back up! We all saw!" Padre says with humor in his voice.
Pride will be my end. I could get up and walk away, but that would both get me a beating and a hit to my ego. If I sit here arguing though, some other part of me would get a punch towards it.
"That's not true!" I cry. "Victoria was pushing from behind me and my boots don't have any friction underneath them anymore! Plus, both my hands were full with my binder and book!"
"I was trying to pick you up!" Victoria exclaims from her seat.
"Ya, but you weren't any help!" I coldly state back.
"I bet you were too fat to get up!" Denise snickers from her seat. Ooh, she should be glad I can't beat her. Sometimes I daydream about kicking her senseless. I feel like that makes me a bad person though.
"Shut up, no one was talking to you!" I yell at her. I am beyond pissed. I'm so tired of all the stupid things. Always telling me what I can and cannot do, always talking about as if I'm not even here. Who do they fucking think they are?
"Hey!" My mother shouts.
Padre gets up and pulls me by the ear. I whimper and stand from my seat as he starts to pull on it upwards and harder. Most of the time I can't even feel anything from how numb my ear has gotten. He pulls me around the table and into the living room. From there he smacks me on my back and pushes me towards the hallway where I crash into the wall. Tears are streaming beyond the confinement of my eyes, but I refuse to put my head down. Instead, I keep my chin up.
"To your room!" He shouts and points towards my door. I do as told, knowing the minute I enter the room I'll regret everything I did and think of ways in which I could have argued, could have stood up for myself. But right now, I'm too emotionally filled to think.
Once in my room with the door shut (I made sure not to slam it or else have worse consequences), I begin to fume and curse myself out for being so fucking weak. I've been promising myself for so long that I wouldn't come back to this, I wouldn't be the weak girl I once was and still am.
Tears stream down my eyes even faster than before when I hear them talking and laughing like before. I used to fantasize ways in which I would and could change myself for the better, but no matter what I promise myself, I still stay the same.
