Childhood pt 2

Writing

Memories scarce within my mind, I try to stand tall but as I do I can’t help but breakdown. I’ve shed tears; I’ve received the lashes I’ve once earned. I look around my home. I see my father’s obituary I’ve obtained. A faded picture of the man that is my father, it seems fitting but I know that it wasn’t intentional. A faded picture for a ghost of a man that once had lived. His passing made oceans of tears, oceans so great whales could have swam in them. He barely knew me, I never needed him I was told constantly as if learning to tie my ties, or learning about women wasn’t important. I accepted it because I never knew any better, we were the same, and our names were the same. The blood that flows through my veins and the name that I carry with me are all a part of the two people who created me. I’m trying to stand tall in a world that pushes me down. I see the ones I love die before me, or taken away. I can’t help but breakdown. I constantly worry about the family that I’ve just gotten to know and love. All of the family that I never got to know or care about before. If only they knew about the nightmares that have played through my mind as I grew up. The constant anger I felt for no reason, the moments where I avoid school to be alone. I was only eight when I discovered that words could be the things that save me. The words my brother once wrote inspired me. Dark words and sharp phrases that touched the soul, and slowly I began to become this grieving monster full of self hate and pity. Maybe back then the words that inspired me have created me. Just maybe for once within my childhood I was finally something.

I was simply, depressed.

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