No Easy Life

The words are beginning to hurt now more then ever. As I begin to spiral down a dangerous path, I have no one to look too, no notable future ahead. My emotional barrier starts to get broken down, and the things that get past it are striking my heart like daggers to flesh. I begin to hurt to the deepest depths of my body, which is making me weaker by the day. No one could begin to understand, no one has tried regardless. I feel alone in this world, a stranger walking into the dark, followed by death disguised as a man.

My parents never helped me to succeed, I was rejected and un-favoured as a child, always having to resort to any means to get my next meal. My father was a man with fire in his soul, and alcohol in his breath. Everyday was a struggle, not only for myself, but for my mother, who got the worst of my father’s drunken rage. This continued for several years, as I endured hell both in home life and school life. By the time I reached fourth grade, my mother’s sanity was hanging by a little thread, so thin that even a slight gust of wind could make her crazy. Resorting to any means possible, I tried to get my mother and I out of that house and far away from the tornado of pain that was my father. But by the time I could find somewhere for us to escape too, my mother had turned into a clone of my father, a despicable person only capable of feeling one thing: an intense burning feeling of hatred towards everything.

Going to school held no relief. Everyday I was singled out, and every month I was double-crossed. The rags that I had to wear to school, were displaying what the state of my life was like. The bullies could see that I was weak and would always use it to there advantage. The only meal that I could eat all day was lunch at school, leaving me especially vulnerable to the attacks. My mind began to grow weaker than my muscles, and my teachers began to also prey on my weakness, leaving no rest for even the classroom, a place of learning and a symbol of innocence. As I became more and more depressed daily, I also lost all my faith in the rest of the people in the world.

As the fate of my entire life was held in the hands of two tormenting demons and an army of emotionless monsters, I also began a completely new battle, unbeknownst to anyone around me: a battle with my inner feelings. Depression overtook my body and soul quicker than the plague, and diluted them until I began to wish death upon myself, just to ease the pain of the life that I was made to live. The only way I could find a way out was through the same substance that had ruined my life and countless lives before me. As I came out screaming and gasping for air from the bottom of the sea of emotion that had made its home inside of me, I begun a plunge to an even darker place within my mind, a dangerous place where my whole sense of good could be wiped out completely, if I granted it full control over my soul.

I had to run away. It was the only escape and my only chance of doing something good with my life. As I began my way on the streets, at the age of 15, I wasn’t accepted anywhere, for the second time in my life. No jobs would hire me, as the smell of the alcohol and drugs permeated off of my skin so strongly, that not even people with the purest minds and best intentions wanted to come try and help me. Mocked by my former classmates as they were walking to school, I had to get money any way that I could, whether it be stealing, drug running, or just outright begging.

I look off the edge of the cliff and see an escape from the pain that I try to run from, but have to feel every time I look at myself in a mirror. As I look back at the tragic events of my life I start to realise that all I needed in my life was someone to be friends with, someone who cared. And as I took the downward plunge to the gate which held my release from the hell that I had been stuck in, I realise that all I truly needed was faith and determination, in life and in people.