A Darker Truth

Chapter 4

I
Hate thinking
So much.
Not your usual 2+2 thinking, of the thinking you do as you brush some hair behind you ear. I mean the late night thinking. But at the same time, I love it.
Late night thinking is as real as you're gonna get. But my thoughts-
My fucking thoughts are god awful at night. Depression pulls me into a hug and begins whispering lovely, dark thing to me. All the while, anxiety is playing a lovely melody on his violin and that violin becomes a violent storm and the violence is unbearable but I sit. I sit and I suffer.
But at the same time, creativity floats around me during the night. She sways and turns and whispers lovely little secrets to me, but then depression will grab a hold of them and give them a twist.

It's a weird way to look at the world, but that's fine. A weird way is better than no way.

But still, I wish it would stop. The memories of the past come to haunt me during the night and the violin begins to screech in pain as it's cords are yanked and slammed on. The screening reminds me of my past. My mother.
I remember hearing a screech in my past from my mother. Blood covering her pale wrists as she leaned forward and yelled

"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?! HUH?!"

That night was insane. It was so dark out. My father managed to convince everyone that it was an accident. Stating she grabbed the knife and missed the carrots.

My thoughts are a mess. I'm exhausted but I still have this urge to stay awake until my body collapses upon its self like rotten would collapsing from being soaked for to long.

The other day I could hardly sleep a wink.

"I'm going to fucking kill your son than myself! Thanks a lot for making our night end in tragedy!"

My father was screaming at my mother over the phone, threatening suicide for the billionth time. But this time was different. He threatened her son, this time. And thus, the police were called.

Last night was a crazy night because honestly, I didn't give a fuck. After hearing the same speech every day for a week straight once per month twelve times a year for my entire life
It gets pretty old. I'm starting to get old. I don't really like it though. I'm not ready to grow up. I didn't even know I would make it this far, man.
Mark would be fucking proud of me. Charlie would be proud of me. Maybe, just maybe, dad would be proud of me.

I fucking hate him but I'm still his kid. I don't wanna deal with him.

I remember this one time a two months back. Last week of summer, actually. We were supposed to go somewhere together, but he started his bullshit up again. Next thing I know, I'm on my way back home because

"You're mom doesn't fucking love you. She's going to kill herself because you're such a piece of shit, you fucking whore."

It doesn't stop.

It never fucking stops.

When will it fucking stop?

I wish I knew the answer for that question. Maybe one day I will.

I just
Really
Really hope this stops