3

I'd moved out because my family was highly judgmental of everything I did. Nothing was good enough. My little sister could do it all better then I could, and honestly all that negativity weighed on me. I accelerated out of the parking lot, and headed toward work which was about fifteen minutes away. Being late simply wasn't an option since they had a strict time policy, and those petty assholes wouldn't let it go even if the world was in the process of being changed forever. 

We wouldn't even know just how dangerous these dungeons were until tomorrow anyway, but I had an inkling that they would be much more dangerous then people were thinking. What made me think that way? The survival chance in the corner of the see through screen in front of me. I was kind of glad I was in the habit of leaving early when I found that the casino parking lot was absolutely bursting at the seams. I dismissed the status window, and rushed across the parking lot as fast as I could. 

I was determined not to be late even a second. These responsible habits were one of the ways I managed my depression. I often couldn't tell just how dark my thoughts had gotten until I was contemplating just ending it all so no one would have to deal with my drama anymore. I'd always been punished for crying when I was growing up so I'd gotten in the habit of burying my pain so that no one could see it. The last year out of my parents household had done a lot for my mental stability, but I still fell into a deep depression whenever I talked to my parents. 

My mother in particular like to stomp all over all of my feelings, and insecurities. The fact that she was my mother meant she knew exactly where to place her foot so it would do the most damage. Our last visit had done quiet a bit of damage to my mental health. Hence the reason I wanted to focus on anything but myself as I tried to bury my pain. A part of me actually wished that she'd just hit me. 

At least physical pain was easy to heal from, and I'd be able to hate her that way. No she just made me feel worthless. Made me think that I was worth less then the air I was breathing, and that the only reason I deserved to live was the fact that I brought in a regular paycheck. So many times I'd shed tears, and tried to explain the pain she was making me feel only for her to throw it back in my face. I'm only trying to help you grow up, she would always say. 

Then she would grant my sister some privilege I wasn't allowed because she worked harder then I did. Part of me just wanted her to admit she'd made mistakes. Another part didn't care. Despite how terrible she made me feel I still loved her, and that was painful in itself. How could she be so kind, and so cruel in equal measure?

I knew she didn't want to have me by the time I moved out. I was a glorified errand girl, and I knew that if I didn't get out I would only be that for the rest of my life. Now I'd been out for a year, and it made little to know difference. The first six months had been the most painful. The way my mom threatened me when she found out I'd left. 

The way she'd simply dismissed me when I admitted to being suicidal. Your daughter tells you that she's spent most of the time since she turned fourteen so depressed that she has spent more time thinking about ending it all then she has been thinking about any sort of future, and you dismiss her as being dramatic. I dismissed that line of thought. I couldn't cry at work. I may only be a prep cook, but I was starting to tear up, and the best way I knew to stop myself from crying was to work so I hopped to it. 

Sometimes I would break down crying no matter how hard I tried to contain my feelings, and thankfully the acting manager during my shift was super understanding. I didn't know if that understanding came from my near perfect attendance or her own poor life experiences, but it was probably one of the only reasons I was still employed here. Had the other manager continued to work here I would have quit. I'd spent a lot of time job searching when I got home because of that ass, and the fact that he'd been moved to a different department was music to my ears although a part of me did feel guilty that I was one of the reasons for the transfer. I halfway listened to the conversations in the kitchen as I focused on my job. 

Most of them were talking about the awakening. I wasn't one to interrupt conversations if I could help it, but I needed to work, and the kitchen was an absolute mess. Half the line cooks had called out because of the awakening, and someone from the morning shift had simply quit, and left. The casino was damn near it's maximum capacity, and we were behind on everything. Us being the cheapest restaurant in the casino just made the problem that much worse. 

I was damn near running through all my tasks. Do chicken, do the salads, make sure the line has bread, this thing for the special needs heated, and on it went. The day flew by, and none of my breaks felt like they were long enough, but I wasn't staying over even if they needed me. My shift got over, and I left. It was long dark by the time I got home, and my poor mood had me cooped up in my room most of the day.