Life Sucks Sometimes

House Of Filth

Well, I told you in advance what this was, don't be surprised by the title.

So, I just want to say, I know little to nothing about my past personally. I don't remember my childhood. I psychologically repressed it because of all this shit, so a majority of what I say in this bit will be knowledge pieced together from everyone else. Now, my mother flat out denies the house of filth. However, Colin, my father, my uncle, and my grandmother both accept it as a piece of history as well as my grandmother having evidence of this occurrence.

But here's the thing: I know it is true. I don't remember it, I can't find any one memory of it, but when someone says it, it hurts in a way that feels so real, like I was remembering a painful memory, but nothing occurs in my mind. Like a magnet puling something on the other side of a wall. The idea is pulled in, but there is a barrier that the thought can't just move through. I'd love to talk to a psychologist and learn more about how repression works, but at the same time I don't want to remember what happened because it was super horrible and I would rather not give myself even worse PTSD about this shit.

The interesting thing here is, my mother took Colin with her. (My father said, with sincerity in his voice, this felt true) My dad gave her the money for Colin to be legally adopted, however she spent it on alcohol, so that didn't happen (She said this with the same disdain from when she said the house of filth never existed, so I am pretty sure that this was lies. Though I could be wrong. Which do you think was right?). Colin has a different father than I, and so Colin went with mom while the rest, myself as well as Shane and John, were the ones custody was fought for.  

In what little memory I do have, I recall being in the psychiatrist's room having a discussion with her about which parent I wanted to be with. I wanted to say both. But then she said I had to pick one. I was a kid, I said I wanted to be with the parent where more of my toys were, to be with my dad. Do to my decision, which for the record is not taken as any strong evidence in the court of law, but due to my words Shane blamed me for saying them and separating us from Colin.

[A moment in the future here] In a little aside, Shane really blamed me for the trio of kids living with dad. One day, he was crying, we were at mom's house on a joint custody day, but we were going to go back to father's house soon, so he cried. He was about ten or eleven years old or so, and he specifically said that it was my fault as he persisted to cry about having to say goodbye to Colin for a while. We can go back to our timeline now.

But before we were split apart to live with dad, the courts said "You need a mother!!" and then sent us to live in dad's house with mom. That's right, they gave the house to her and told him to leave.

In one year's time, the horror of the house of filth rocked us.

Now here is where I am going to drop my little quips and jokes or otherwise distracting language, because this is a very emotional topic. This individually is the reason why I am writing this whole piece, and I just want the truth of the matter and how hard hitting it is to clarify itself.

I had been trying to ease the pain of all these difficult to tackle emotions for any reader because I don't want you guys to suffer. A good writer takes a reader into the story they write, I would rather be the worst writer ever than to make anyone go through this emotional pain, and I would soften this with jokes, but I can't think of anything funny because tears are welling in my eyes. And I haven't even explained it yet.

My mother severely neglected us. It was the house of filth because everything was a filthy wreck. There were piles of clothes here and there scattered about the house. Clean or unclean stopped mattering, and I went to school as the poor kid who smelled funny for quite some time.

On these clothes piles were plates with food, left and forgotten as we children were, and they began rotting. I have this deep seated fear of things that are slimy or rotten, but mostly maggots. Officially crying after typing that M word.