I'm Hendrix, a freshman in High School who got Student of the Year in Creative Writing in eighth grade. I'm diverging from the war stories I usually write and I'm writing about my feelings, so I hope you enjoy!
I locked myself in my room and sat there while my parents fought, thinking about a strange array of things, from the future to different ways of suicide. It was a tough time. My mom was and still is, a lying sack of SHIT. She lied about her drugs, she made me and my sister lie to my dad, she lied about shit she did, and when I snapped and told my dad what she did, she called me a “Two-Faced Fuck”.
Imagine how that feels. Your own mom calling you a two-faced fuck. Do you know what it feels like to be neglected by the person who says that they love you, to be a “child of convenience”? It SUCKS. I was basically brainwashed by that bitch into believing that my dad was a demon who beat us and her when he didn’t. I was so scared I tried to hide from him whenever he got into a fight with my mom.
When I turned twelve, my parents finally got divorced, and I went with her for a few months. Those three months were the worse in my life. I mean, apart from not seeing the parent who cared, I was drugged so I wouldn’t interrupt my mom’s fuck sessions, me and my sister were fed Subway burritos and black coffee unless my mom took us somewhere, where I’m fairly certain my mom drugged me still. I was beaten and nearly introduced to drugs too. I made an attempt on my life when I held a gun I found in my mom’s truck to the side of my head. It wasn’t loaded, so it was a failed attempt, but that proves my point.
After a few months, my mom kicked me out and I went back to my dad’s house. She kept my sister though, at least for twice as long. I lost so much weight staying with my mom, but I was still at least 230 when I was 250 when I left with my mom. I was actually kinda skinny compared to what I am now. I had gotten used to hunger. I had gotten so used to abuse that I flinched whenever my dad raised his hand to pat me on the back and hug me. I was dropped off like dirty laundry at my dad’s house, and things got better by far. I gained back my weight, I discovered my fascination with video games, and I did better in school. It was better than what I had. But I still thought about suicide. I had nobody except for my dad to cry to, to tell them that I loved them, to feel their warmth. I was alone, basically. ALONE. When I turned 13, my dad met a woman, Michelle. I love her so much. They got married after and we moved here, to Westminster/Broomfield.