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𝐎𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐈'𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 #𝟎𝟐𝟎
𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 his room, gaze fixed on the ceiling as he puffed on his fourth blunt of the day, the morning light barely creeping past seven am. He pinched the burning ember between his fingers, taking a deep, languid drag, his eyes growing increasingly bloodshot and heavy-lidded with each inhale.
He had been lost in his thoughts all day, retreating into his own mind as a means of escape. He had deliberately shut off his phone, severing his connection to the outside world and avoiding any potential interactions or intrusions. The silence and isolation were his only comforts, a fragile shield against the turmoil brewing within.
His mind wandered to the ache within, a nagging question echoing through his thoughts; why did he feel so alone? Why did it seem like no one was truly there for him, despite the facade of happiness he wore like a mask? The weight of his secret struggle bore down on him — years of quietly battling depression, hidden behind a veneer of joy and contentment.
In his darkest moments, Quincy couldn't help but wonder: would his mother have returned, sober and loving, if he had been stronger, if he had been enough? The thought haunted him, fueling his feelings of uselessness and unworthiness, a deep-seated belief that he was unwanted, not just by the world, but by his own parents.
Quincy's parents, Sheka and Travis, had been entangled in a cycle of drug addiction for as long as he could remember, leaving him to navigate the chaos alone. As their only child, he bore the brunt of their struggles, shouldering the weight of their neglect and instability, with no siblings to share the burden or offer support.
Quincy's shame and embarrassment silenced him, preventing him from seeking help or support. He felt humiliated by his parents' drug addiction, and the fear of being judged or pitied kept him from opening up to others.
