Saturday 19 February 2011

Allergy Girl part 2

Okay,so things aren't quite that intense,but I am allergic to all of those things and do have similar,albeit majorly less dramatic,side effects. Most people, when they introduce me into conversation,can't help but focus on my allergies and love to take morbid pleasure in listing them off one by one. I'm more than just a pox-ridden pus-filled girl-shaped blister,i'm a human being!

My name is Elizabeth and I am around twenty. I live at home with my mother and elder sister Mary. Mary is sixteen years older than me and is severely autistic. She is taller and stockier than me and is as strong as an ox. Most of the time as pleasant as can be,drawing pictures, singing in her special made up language that makes me think of African tribes she's like a grown up four year old.  But piss her off and she'll pulverize you! Anything can piss Mary off. Last month she accidentally bit the inside of her lip whilst eating a cheese and tomato sandwich. A split second after noticing the pain and the blood on her bread she erupted in a ear-perforating shriek and struck me a left hook to the eye which sent me reeling off the kitchen chair and smashing my head off the oven door. I needed three stitches on my head and had a plum for an eye.
My mother developed an immunity to Mary's outbursts years ago and is about the only person who can control her when she's in her worst of tantrums. But these were rare occasions as we were both good at calming her down.

Our father left us when I was about eleven months old,i have never known him,after he witnessed Mary punch the living shit out of me and my mother having to shield me from her flailing fists. Mary hated children,especially when they made any kind of loud noise. Father was a physically and mentally weak person and I believe scared of his own offspring. He vanished one day with the majority of his and my mother's joint savings and the car,oh and Tara,the Alsatian dog that apparently worshipped the air I breathed.
I must hasten to add however, Mary is no psycho and we would never ever have her institutionalized. Her medication helps and she's very independent for some one of her nature. Most of her time she spends in her room where she draws, watches telly, listens to music. Sometimes it's amusing to hear her having conversations with herself,answering each question in another voice an octave higher. Idlings out aloud of what she was thinking, maybe what she fancied for tea. I'd lay on my bed listening,forgetting my bruises. However things started getting a little bit weird when I heard a third voice, the Other Mary. 

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