Um.

I don't understand.

My mom and dad (and sister) have been on about how I need to start driving, and that I should've learned in high school.

Here are the reasons why I did not start driving when I was 15.

1. No car (my mother didn't want me driving her BMW, and my father, understandably, didn't want me to learn on his giant Dodge Ram.)
2. No insurance (apparently this is quite expensive for little old me)
3. No job to pay for any of it (gas, insurance, car repairs, etc.)

I wasn't allowed to have a job, even a summer one. My parents wanted me to focus on school; they said they'd drive me where I needed to go. They did. I graduated high school, got into college with two scholarships. My parents only have to pay for my housing.

When I went back home after my first year, I asked about driving. Because I was in summer school, I needed to be driven there and back at weird hours. My parents didn't pay very much attention to it this time, only that they would look into getting a car.

That summer, I had friends who wanted to hang out with me. And always, they had to come pick me up or drive me home. I felt guilty about using their gas money or wasting their time to come out to where I live. I would come home late. We'd see midnight premieres or spend the whole day at someone's house. My parents always knew where I was and who I was there with. I don't lie to them- I'd even take pictures of pretty restaurant food and send pix messages.

Yet I always got questions: Where are you going? Who are you going with? When are you coming home? Did you finish your chores? I never minded the questions, yet it seemed as though they didn't want me going out with my friends, people I hadn't seen in months.

This school year, it's become apparent that I need a car to drive around- runs to Wal-Mart, the art supply store, the printing place. I realized that waiting on others to drive me somewhere was becoming troublesome and expensive for them. I'd buy them food or pay for their art supplies to make up for the gas money they were spending. I told my parents about all my troubles, and they realized I needed a car. My dad and grandfather are trying to get me one.

I still don't have a job. No one will hire me because I have no work experience. I can't even get an architecture internship because no one wants someone as young as me. So I have no money.

I come home almost a week ago. I've been sitting at home all day, either sleeping, watching TV, or cleaning. Last night was the first I'd been out in a few days (to shop for Mother's Day). As a cover up, I told my mom, "I told Daddy I wanted to get out of the house, so we went to Target. I've been cooped up in this house forever." She said that I'd better learn how to drive, or else I'd be "cooped up" for the whole summer, as both of my parents work obscene hours.

My mother and I had a frank "back and forth" conversation about this. I told her plainly that in high school they didn't want me driving, and she denied it. The conversation ended with, "Yaminah, you're going to end up like your aunt! She gets people to drive her everywhere and uses the bus because she won't learn how to drive! She's 60 years old! Just take my BMW. I need a new car anyway." My father promptly said that it'd get stolen. (Which is completely untrue. People at my college drive Audi, Lexus, BMW, and Mercedes cars all the time.) He said, "I'll get you a car."

I don't understand this attitude. They said they'd get me a car and I'd learn how to drive. Fine. I don't understand their attitude towards my outings, which are bound to be more frequent if I could drive.

I just don't understand why they question where I go and what I do when my 13 year old sister is going to eighth grade "prom" and an afterparty when I, at that age, was barred from that. I don't understand how my sister is allowed to go to parties at hotels where boys go, and I could never, and still cannot, do so. I don't understand. I've never lied about where I was going or who I was with. I've never misrepresented my intentions or acted inappropriately when out of the house. None of my previous activity has ever indicated that I would behave in a way that would disappoint them. The worst thing I ever got in trouble for was not cleaning my room.

When I entered puberty, I became restricted with what I could do. I couldn't go to parties with boys, and I couldn't sleep over at friends' houses. I never complained, just told my friends that I couldn't go. I couldn't date, of course, and I couldn't go to school functions like prom or homecoming. I couldn't go to the mall with my friends (the first time I did that was over a break in the winter.) I couldn’t wear bathing suits. I couldn't wear shorts, or shirts that showed my shoulder. I was eight years old when life started to change in that way. I never rebelled, and I never said anything. I just did as I was told. And now, I'm finding that the impact of those things is hurting me slightly.

I'm uncomfortable around people of the opposite sex to a point where if I sit down to talk with a male (that's not in architecture), it just becomes awkward. Several people have confessed to me that they thought I was a lesbian because of this. This spills over into my interactions with females as well, but most people think I'm just a bit odd because I don't interact with new people well.

I'm noticing that my parents and other people I'm around (mostly other people) assume that I have "someone special," and that I'm just private about my personal life. The sad thing is that after my first degree, my parents will probably ask me about marriage/ a boyfriend, and I know I'll have nothing to say about it. How could I, when I was barred from the opposite sex since puberty?

But it'll be just like this driving thing. They'll deny it all later on, and use my sister as an example that they never said those things. My sister's "prom" dress has straps that don't go over her shoulder, and you can see her knees in the dress. My mother buys her new clothes. She goes out with friends over the weekend, and is involved in extracurricular activities that I was never allowed to do. She wears makeup and has a cellphone. She's had boyfriends (that my dad doesn't know about), and she's had her first kiss.

Yet I sit here, having panic attacks because I don't know how to address my male professors. I don't have many clothes that I like- they're hand-me-downs from my mother and aunts, or things that don't fit me properly. I don't have many friends because I was taught that I didn't need friends to live a fulfilling life. I don't know how to network. I get headaches if I get in a crowded area. I hate crossing the street.

I live like the world is a TV show that I watch. I interact with it, yes, but mostly I just watch casually and float on through. When I think about myself relationship-wise/sexually, I don't apply a gender to myself because I watch everything from my seat. I've never had a serious want to be in a relationship with someone. (Even in school, after the guy figured it out, I didn't like him anymore because it lost its appeal.)

I don't understand. What did my parents think would happen if I stayed at home cleaning and cooking and studying? I wouldn't say I'm afraid of the world- I just literally don't know how. And yet because I've watched people all these years, I'm the first person people confide in. I'm the first person people tell about problems. My mother confides in me. My father confides in me. My grandfather has said things to me that he won't tell to others. My sister confides in me. People die, are hurt, and hurt themselves, and others cry to me. I don't cry. I don't show emotion. I play the role that they want, which is to be strong (for them) and tell them words they want or need to hear. I've advised all of these people, helping them right their wrongs, and yet I don't know how to do it for myself.

My mother says I'm free to do what I want. But that's not true.

I do enjoy being myself. I never notice I'm short until someone points it out. I never notice I carry a little more weight until my mother points it out. I never notice my clothes are reused year after year until my father points it out. I never notice I'm single until someone else points it out. I never notice I'm eccentric/eclectic until my sister points it out. I don't mind any of these things that others consider flaws. I really don't.

But when my parents say to me that nothing ever stopped me from learning how to drive, I hold up my hand, telling them to stop right there. I tell them the truth, as I always have, and yet they deny it. What tomfoolery is this? I just don't understand this.

I'm really tired of thinking "oh I can't buy this- my mom will see my bank account" or "no, I can't wear this- my dad will think this about me" or "no, I can't say this, they'll think I approve of this." I never let other people in my life dictate how I live my life- except my parents. I get the bulk of my money from them, I live in their house, and I am their child. I can't just say "fuck it, I do what I want," when it comes to them. I can say that about my professors. I can say that about my classmates. But I can't say it about them.

I've told my parents that at times, I'm not proud of them. I'm not proud of his homophobia, or my mother's issue with weight-gain. I'm not proud that they do and say things that hurt others. But I've never told them that I'm struggling to grow in the shadow that they've cast. There are just things you don't say.

And I'm the type of person that just takes it and takes it. I may complain on the internet or to my friends, but I never complain to them. And one day I just snap, lock my parents in a room, and scream at them what they've done wrong. I've done it several times before. I've told them that someone has to yank them back down. And they sit there, in fear of my rage. But I never yell about things that pertain to myself. I never have.

But this driving thing, it bothers me. It bothers me, not because they wouldn't let me drive before and that's why I'm in this predicament. It bothers me because they deny what I've said. Of all the offenses people commit against me, only three things that bother me: lying to me, hurting me psychologically, and not listening to the words that come out of my mouth. I can forgive the first two things, but the last… I don't lie to the people I love. I never have. I can't. So why would they deny what I say? Is it because they don't want to own up to the responsibility that they messed up back then? They have to reap what they've sown.

I just don't understand.