It Always Comes Back

Memories Always Come Back in the End

I want to start off by saying that I never meant to hurt anyone, things got way out of hand and out of control before I could even stop it. I needed to tell my side of the story and what was going on behind the scenes of my own life. But I know it doesn't excuse what I did and I only want people to know the truth, because all of this has been eating at me, festering, rotting, and turning the worst parts of myself into a monster. Well, it was and I've to terms that maybe I am or was a terrible person. 

I only started remembering after I started writing again, it triggered a memory inside of me and the memories wouldn't stop coming. They came rolling in day in and day out, I was reliving those memories all over again after I forced myself to forget because I didn't want to remember the pain I had gone through or remember what a horrible person I was. 

It started as lie and as it grew so did my guilt; a fake name, a fake title, and I got the job as a writer. However, what I didn't know was they already knew I was lying, but let me continue anyway because they liked the story I had come up with so much.

I got close, without meaning to, to the head of the company we were friends at first and then became very close. But as this "project" became bigger and bigger, I had a feeling that someone would betray me an instinct that latched onto me. Then they asked if I could help them make a Kickstarter for said "project", I made the lines and when that was done they asked me to find an actor. 

While all of this was happening, I was still living with my parents and at the time I thought I was pathetic, "How could someone my age still be living with their parents", I asked myself. I was stuck and them fighting all the time didn't help either. And their anger was sometimes directed towards me, pathetic and stupid was what they called me. I wanted to prove them wrong.

So, I set up to hire an actor that could play this role as a "Television host", I did my research and googled a lot of actors. Finally, I found one that could possibly fit the role; I didn't know who he was at the time and listened to a few things until coming to the conclusion that he would be perfect for the role. 

I emailed him asking if he would be interested, that this was a passion project, promised that he would have more lines in the "project", and sent him the script. He emailed back right away, which caught me by surprise and that he was definitely interested. I was so happy and felt very accomplished that I found someone who was eager to work with us. 

The Kickstarter was fun to make I had the actor who played the role as the "T.V. Host" get the heads name wrong a couple of times and in the script it said that he would get annoyed by that. I thought that was particularly funny, although the whole thing was entertaining overall. 

What I didn't anticipate was him calling and texting me about when he was going to get the scripts that I promised him. Now, mind you, I was still writing multiple things for different people in the "project", so it caught me a little off guard and because I wanted to please everyone I told him that I was working on it right now. 

Everyone ended calling me and asking for input on how the story should go, if they didn't get the next story piece they would move on to someone else that could give them what they wanted quickly. And now I had more responsibility than what I was ready for and all the while comforting my Mom as she cried about her latest fight with my Step Dad. 

There was a lot of stuff going on at home and my parents fights just kept getting worse and worse. She accused him of cheating, doing drugs, and emotionally abusing me and my siblings; which he was doing, but we didn't find out about the truth about him cheating and drug use until later. 

And despite all of that I kept pushing through, because the only thing that was keeping me happy was writing and working on the "project." Writing and writing, until my hands were sore and any bad ideas that I had were thrown into the trash. In my gut, though I didn't want to admit it, I felt like I was being used.