My family and I are absolutely polarized, fire and ice, opposite ends of the spectrum. At one end, you have those who are red, the colour of blood and fire, the colour of passion, of intensity, of heat and desire, of hell, of everlasting love or undying hate. At the other end, I am violet, the colour of some flowers, the colour of the future, of tranquillity, of imagination and spirituality, of energy and integrity.

Opposites are said to attract, which is occasionally the case. But not, generally, with us. Most of the time, we clash in every opinion, in every single way. I think my parents are too strict, too demanding. I've seen other people's parents be more calm and collected, being far more lenient with my friends. Thinking about that, everyone is different, everyone has flaws. I used to be more vicarious than I am now. My new directness, my new ability to confront, only makes situations worse. 

My six-year-old brother is the clear favourite of the household. He's more green, the colour of the grass and trees, of life, of renewal, of growth and harmony, of safety and the environment, of neutrality. He is more obedient than I am, though mostly just with our father with whom he follows around like a little puppy. He's amazing in school, spelling at an eight-year-old level. Is it really any surprise?

When my family and I get along, everything is okay. When we disagree, it's every man/woman for themselves. 

One recent scenario being the hair crisis of last night. It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Over the past four days I had gradually been lightening my hair (without parental permission). At first no one noticed, but then it reached the stage where it was incontrovertible. My mum shouted at me. My dad "spoke" to me later; before taking my laptop away from me. 

"You can have it back," he had said. "Once you've tidied your room."

I did tidy my room. I was desperate for my laptop. My life was on it not to mention the fact that I had four summer projects with urgently needed completing (starting). I also needed to contact my friend, Louisa, about Thorpe Park. I was usually a bit of a coward when it came to rides, especially the ones where it feels like you are about to be thrown out of them. This time, though, I was comforted by the knowledge that Louisa was smaller, thinner, more fragile than me. Translation: if either of us go flying out of a ride, it will most likely be Louisa. 

I went downstairs for the hoover and I slowly began to make my way upstairs with it. My father proceeded to warn me about the way that I was carrying it and, the next thing I know, the hoover was tumbling down the stairs. That was probably the moment when the arguments really began. My dad was shouting, I was crying and shouting "it was an accident" despite the fact that no one was listening. It ended when my mum sent me to my bedroom. Or, so I thought. 

Shortly after that, my mum went out on her usual run with an eighteen (or nineteen) year-old, Lauren, who I had a strong dislike for. My brother was at his friend's house and I was alone with my father. He came upstairs, which I was completely expecting, and yelled at me until the point that I thought his face was turning blue.

He called me disgraceful names. Names that, despite my youth, even I don't use. He told me that I'm an interrupting person; to which my (contradicting) response was to interrupt and tell him that he's the one who interrupts. After his departure from my bedroom, I sent my mum a series of text messages. 

"I can't believe that you left me here with him."
"You were right, I hate you!"
"It's all your fault."
"Your only priority is Lauren."
"What, one mum wasn't enough for her so she had to go and hijack another one?"

I admit it was an overreaction. Still, every message (except for maybe the second) showed the truth. 
These messages went straight back to my dad, when she got home. He confiscated my phone. In retaliation, I knocked things off of my bedside unit, purposely making a lot of noise. Maybe I was getting more like them than I had originally thought. Things got worse. The real, loud screaming match truly began. 

The next morning, I woke up, dreading the moment when I would have to get out of bed. I eventually rose from my bed, about two or three hours later than I normally would, and I made black coffee. Without sugar (there was none in the house) it was disgusting. I sat at the kitchen table to read Pride and Prejudice because I was no longer allowed in the front room with drinks - I spilt a burning hot tea on my lap which resulted in me jumping and spilling the rest of the tea on the sofa. Three days later, and It was still soaking wet. What can I say? I'm a clumsy person. 

My mum went to work and my brother went for his final day of school. Once again, it was just me and my dad. I waited, patiently, for my day to become hell.

It didn't. 

The first words that my dad spoke to me were to tell me that he was going to the gym. He was being incredibly civilised. It was as if the argument hadn't happened (if you ignore the fact that I still didn't have my phone or my laptop). Ultimately, we always went back to normal. It was just that this was the first time that we had forgave this quickly. I knew that I had to read carefully - I couldn't afford to annoy them again so soon. Besides, I was embarrassed about the last two text messages that I had sent to my mum. My jealousy had really shown. She didn't care. At that point, I just didn't care. If she wanted to replace me with an upgraded daughter, I was more or less fine with it. 

My dad went out shopping and, when he came back, he had some new earphones for me in tow. I had been starting to use my brother's because I was in such dire need. Then I realised that I didn't have anything to plug them in to. Typical. I almost asked for my things back but I knew it wasn't quite time to be hassling him. 

After situations like that, I began to count the days until I would be able to move out. I didn't want to deal with the constant stress, the tension, that always seemed to follow me around their house. I wanted the freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted. Maybe I would dye my hair blue. Maybe I would successfully complete a diet. I fantasised about it for a long time. 

I knew that I would be so much happier. Yes, I knew, I would be paranoid - unexpected noises would terrify me but I would get used to it. I knew I would miss my brother, but I could always go and visit. I only had two more years to go. 

When I moved out, I wanted to go home...