(Male's P.O.V.)
Well shit. I just responded. Why did I do that? What do I say? Do I just tell her the truth?
(TW: Abuse, cutting, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt. If you aren't comfortable with any of these, skip ahead to the end of the flashback.)
(Flashback)
I was thinking back about my past when I realized that I wasn't happy a lot of the times. I would say I was depressed a majority of time.
When did it begin?
I wondered that to myself a lot.
Was it after the divorce? Was it during it or was it before? I wasn't quite certain.
Maybe during it. Or after it. Yeah. That sounds about right.
When my mom was around, things were easier. I was happier? I felt better when she was around.
When we were a family, everything seemed easier. Better, to an extent. My mother comforted me when my so-called father abused me. When I was disconnected from the world, she pulled me back and made me feel better. She taught me things my "father" was and wanted me to be ashamed of.
She's amazing, but she's not here now. I haven't seen her since the court case for custody.
My mother wanted to take me and my twin brother away from him. He wanted to take the both of us. I understood why he wanted my brother, he absolutely adored him, but I didn't understand why he wanted me. At least, not at the time.
They fought, but in the end, he won. Not only that, he convinced the court to not allow my mother to see the either of us, or really just me. If my brother begged to see her, he would take him to see her for a day and leave me behind. Even if my brother tried to convince him to take me, he wouldn't.
I want to see her again. She's the only one who cared about me aside from my brother.
His father abuses me almost everyday. He abused me verbally, physically, and emotionally. Almost every kid at school bullies me. The teachers didn't care when I told them. Child Protection Services didn't care when I called them. Nobody cares about me except those two.
No, except my brother.
Fifteen. Ten years after the divorce.
His father took us both to see her one day. I was happy.
Happy.
Then, I was, but that feeling didn't last long.
She was dying.
She had cancer and she was dying. She was dying and there wasn't anything I could do except watch and hope.
During that time I was with her, all she did was love me. She treated me kindly. She spoke to me softly and made me feel safe. She supported me. She was proud of me.
She was the kindness and love I lacked. My brother was kind and loved me as well, but he couldn't show it because of his father. She could.
During that time, I was happy. I was truly happy. I had almost forgotten she was dying with how full of life she was, but that all came undone on August 20th.
She passed away in her sleep and left me nothing. No words of comfort, no advice, absolutely nothing.
I broke down. I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to accept it. I didn't want to accept she had died, but I know it's true. It's reality. She was gone.
My brother, my dear brother, he wanted to comfort so badly. His father wouldn't allow it. No, when he got home all he did was scream at me for being pathetic and that boys shouldn't cry and other stuff I just couldn't listen to anymore.
