"Go get the girl Liam, we're both using each other to get over our exes and it's bad to go back into a toxic relationship, but I guess that's our yellow paint. Yellow is a colour of happiness, but yellow paint is poisonous and I guess our ex's are...
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All last night I was speaking to Scott. He's in hospital, I don't know what's wrong with him, he still hasn't gathered courage to tell me. I woke up this morning with a migraine and I already knew what the cause was.
I turn to my bedside table, only to witness syringes, needles and numerous amounts of weed, cocaine and pills. I always promised myself I'd stop, but I always forget I'm bound to relapse no matter what.
I ain't like any other ordinary teenager. I don't have the privilege of waking up to a mother or a fridge filled with different portions of foreign food. No. I'm Isaac Lahey. This is my story.
When I was approximately 10 I walked in on my mother surrounded by 2 men beside her on her bed. I was confused. I was young.
I remember her voice echoing in my ears ' Isaac! Mummy's having a bit of fun. I left you sandwiches on the table.' And she would constantly repeat herself every time I caught her with another pair of different men.
The 8th time I caught her, she didn't say anything, she'd just yell and tell me to leave. I remember everything, how my small fingertips reached onto the door knob to exist but I always came to a halt as soon as one of the men told me stop, that same man. Every single time.
'It's not fair if we do all the fun and little Isaac isn't part of it'
He told me to watch. He said it would make me a bigger boy. A bigger man. And mama said nothing. Nothing at all.
She included herself in that mans sexual desires, and I watched and watched until they decided it was time to switch themselves into another sex position.
I remember everything. I closed my eyes the first time because everyone at school thought sex or watching was forbidden at our age and that's what I believed. I watched until they finished. I watched until he whispered in my ear 'that's a good boy.'
And for years I had no other option than to watch. All I see is images replaying through my mind whenever I see my mother. She is not a mother. She's a monster.
And so am I.
It's like I've been possessed with the same demon inside of her and it's slowly taken over me just like her. I have witnessed a monster so therefore a monster I have become.
I slowly raise my pajama top sleeve, only so analyze the amount of jabs I took on my wrist to inject myself. It's like I'm in prison.
And I'm shouting and shouting until the veins in my neck explode. And everyone hears it but simply stares and walks away.
They think they know me. They only know my name. They only know where I'm from. They only know my age. They no nothing about me.
Nothing at all. I grabbed my phone from the counter table and scrolled down my Instagram feed.
