It was a never ending roller coaster ride at the shittiest amusement park I called my childhood. It was like all the parts of the roller coaster that made your stomach churn and flop replayed over and over again. There was no end to this ride. It was never ending twist and turns that went faster and faster and made me want to vomit. For the longest time, I thought this was everyone's childhood. It was not everyone's childhood. My childhood was filled with things some children only have nightmares about and things that psychologist will later look into and prescribe high doses of antidepressants and anxiety medication and even sleeping pills to somehow attempt to numb the pain of a broken child. To fill a void of a neglected child. To somehow normalize the pain I felt and put me into a category so they would know how to fix me. But some things aren't fixed with counseling and pills. Some things stay broken. Some pieces you cant glue together. Not even the gorilla glue they use, also known as Prozac, can mend me together. No one knows what really happened. Not even the counselor I sat with for 4 years, who couldn't even figure out that I was worse off than Any suicidal teen. I was a broken child who grew into a broken adult. Broken into shards of glass that if some people pick up wrong, they got cut. You can't open up something that is scattered in pieces across the living room floor of a dirty apartment floor which also lye my mother, my father, and my sister. All broken.
