"𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗰𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝗺𝗽 𝗽𝘂𝗱𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂."
Chaos may be the only way to describe Clailea Del Rosario's 9 years of life.
In a nasty divorce, somehow Clailea's druggie mother w...
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I stare at the paper.
It's empty, and although it is blank it is still full. Empty is still something, there is something there. Empty is what fills the emptiness, and emptiness is still empty.
My head is empty, but it is so, so very full.
I don't feel anything, but I feel everything at the same time.
I'm not really sure how to explain it. I just know that it is confusing.
And what I've learned here with my brothers, is that apparently someone my age shouldn't be having all these confusing feelings, and thoughts. Apparently, this isn't normal.
It's hard to appear normal when everyone is telling you that you're not.
It's hard to try to be normal when I've never known what it was like to live normally.
"Draw your favorite memory." Matteo prompts, seeing my eyes flitting across the page. I'm sure he would've scribbled in his notebook right now, but he seems to know it makes me nervous. I haven't seen it in a while.
I pause. My favorite memory? My first thought is to think back into my head of all my memories, but that's the one thing I've been trying not to do. There are too many bad ones that it isn't even worth it to try and find the good.
My memories are dark, and ugly, and cruel. My memories, my mind is a horrible place. If my head was a movie I would not be able to watch it. I would not be aloud, so why are they there?
I'm too little to watch, I'm too little to think, I'm too little to know.
Yet, although I am little, big, scary, things happened to me.
So, I wait for my brain to give me one. I try not to think back, I think forward. I think forward, and I wait.
But, it does not work. Because in hearing favorite, my brain thinks least favorite.
And Thiagos blood is everywhere.
I blink heavily, trying to rid the image of my memory, and keep the tears from running down my cheeks.
The gunshot. His scream. The blood so much blood.
Thiago, my sweet Thiago.
I pick up a marker, looking over the page.
This one time, I was really hungry. I don't get hungry often, but at this point in time mommy wanted to take me on a vacation.
I know now that she was preparing me for the photos she was going to take of me in my swim suit.
I was super duper hungry, like I was crying because my tummy hurt really bad. I didn't want Thiago to go upstairs, I knew what would happen if he did.
