My Fucked Up Life

1. The Very Beginning

Dedicated to my mom, who never stopped trying until it was too late.

This story will probably be a short one, counting I don't remember much about my life as a kid, and there's not too much interesting things in my life now. Warning you, the chapters will also be very short.

xxMFULxx

When you see a title, it tells you pretty much all you need to know about a story.

Now usually I'd say "Not in this case!" Or something reassuring like that. But the truth is, the title describes this story down to a fact.

But your probably here to read about why my life is so fucked up, not about titles and meanings.

Let's start from when I was just a newborn. My mom and dad never really got along, and they fought all the time. Don't ask me how I exist, because I'm still trying to figure that one out.

Every day, they're arguments got bigger, stronger.

When I was about five, my dad went to the bar. He was fed up with fighting with my mom for the night. Meanwhile, I was playing in my room, calmly. My mom went shopping.

When my dad came back from the bar, he was wasted. But I soon found out he was the angry drunk.

He walked into my room.

"Hi," I said, dropping my toys and smiling up at my dad. "Where were you??"

In response, my dad picked me up, and slammed me hard into my dresser. My back and neck hurt, badly. I could barley move.

His fist slammed against me, followed by a few more punches. I tried getting up, but he kicked me down again, and I took another kick to the ribs, hearing something crack.

I knew I had damaged something, even though I was only five. I was a smart kid, and so I knew that my dad was drunk, as well.

After what felt like hours, I had a black eye, a broken arm, a pulled muscle around my ribs, and blood was coming from my bottom lip.

It hurt everywhere.

My dad finally stopped, when my mom walked into the room.

"Oh my god.." She whispered.

My dad got up, and left the room, not saying anything. Mom was at my side almost at once.

"Are you okay?" She asked me.

I remember her rubbing my cheek softly. Her touch was warm and reassuring. A part of me misses that.

I'll never forget my mom.

xxMFULxx

I was shaking writing that..

It hurts to put this out, but I have to, according to my stupid therapist..

Yeah, I have a therapist. It's not because I have mental issues or anything, it's just about my dad and my past. Oh, and the picture above is something I doodled... :P

Anyways, bye.