Depression(Michael clifford)

One

        My alarm clock blared, making me cringe. Work wasn't exactly something that I was looking forward to, but it had to be done. I was sick of the shit at home, so it was time to leave. Mom wasn't very happy about it, but dad was estatic at the thought of me finally getting out of the house.

        I wasn't sure why he hated me so much. Perhaps because he wanted a son. Perhaps because I was supposed to have a twin brother, but he died in the womb, and my father was left with me instead of a son to carry on the family name as he put it. I was over him not having anything to do with me. Used to it actually, but what I didn't understand was why he hated my mother for it. It wasn't her fault I was a girl. Don't get me wrong, I knew it wasn't my fault either, but I was used to his abuse. I didn't like seeing my mom get it as well. When I turned ten, my mother had another child, my very own brother, and that's when I was all but forgotten. It wasn't so bad. My grandma still loved me, and at times I'd hide out there for weeks at a time without so much as a worried phone call from my parents. I finally got fed up, and when I turned 19 I packed my stuff and moved out after having saved money, and borrowed some from grandma. I was all set to be on my own.

        I rolled out of bed, patting my hair into place a bit before trudging to the shower. I hated mornings. I hated them with an absolute passion. In my opinion, they shouldn't have existed in the first place, but sadly enough, I was granted a job that I had to be at by 7:30 every morning. I let the hot water of the shower run over my aching muscles, and ease some of the tension. I finished my shower, and wrapped a towel around myself snugly. I padded across the small hallway to my bedroom, shutting the door quickly behind me. I found clothes that were suitable for my job as an editor. The last thing I needed was to be fired because of what I was wearing. I twisted my still wet hair into a bun that rested on my head. I hated wearing my hair up, but I also hated it in my face when I worked.

        The drive to work was short, and much easier than expected. I entered the modest looking building and approached the woman at the desk. She looked up at me, her beady eyes narrowing slightly.

        "What?" She snaped, making me jump the slligtest bit. I cleared my throat, and straightened my back out to look more professional.

        "My name is Clarity-Jane Powers. I'm here to see Mr. Toro." I announced. Oh yes. I was very professional.