My Mother didn't let me listen to my music out loud anymore.
Instead, I had a portable CD player, more than one actually, but they were cheap and always broke after consistent use.
I'd had a job since the 7th grade, and with the funds, I bought myself a no-skip CD player.
For those of you raised on streaming, let me tell you something, this was a luxury.
I loved it.
I was free to listen to music uninterrupted.
This time, when my brother and I fought, He grabbed my brand new CD Player and smashed it against the tile floor.
In tears I showed it to my mother.
When confronted, my brother cried and said he didn't mean to do it.
She just sighed and said, "He already feels bad about it."
YOU ARE READING
What My Mother Forgot
Non-FictionBefore reading this, you should know... This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending. Simply put, this is a chronological account of the abuse, neglect, and bullying I suffered at the hands of loved ones from birth to 17 years old. It does no...
