Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

And I know I’d waste my last words on something stupid, like “I’m sorry,” or “I never stopped loving you.”

Another day, another bottle’s contents swirling in my stomach, melting away the anxiety and replacing it with a physical sensation akin to choking. Or perhaps my throat is actually swollen shut? My lungs might be filling up with cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, leaving no room for something as silly as a chemical reaction turning oxygen into carbon dioxide. Perhaps that’s for the best, letting my words die in my chest before they find purchase on my breath, saving me from making another mistake, since I’m sure I’d just waste my final moments trying to tell you something, even though there’s not a single fucking thing you want to here from me…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

I’m less than garbage, less than dirt. The lowest of the low…I’m truly the definition of a scummy, wasted, worthless existence.

~I’m sorry Mom~

You raised me with nothing but love and care. You were so small, but I haven’t met anybody who can match your strength. A day never went by where I didn’t get at least one hug from you. But I stole something from you. With every hug, I was betraying your trust and wasting your warmth. Everything you gave to me wasn’t enough to fill in the holes I’d already begun to cut from my soul. I can’t remember a single hug, a single moment with you, where my body was whole. I know you hugged me before I began making these scars, but I can’t remember it. There are pictures and stories, eye witnesses and undeniable video evidence, but still… I can’t remember what it felt like… and before I knew it, all I could give you was this half human shell. Everything was gone. I was only 6, but it was all gone. I knew it wasn’t right, cutting myself like that, but I couldn’t resist. I was only 6, and it wasn’t your fault at all, but part of me still wanted to blame anybody other than the monster I share a body with. I stole away the innocence you gave me. I’ve never been able to give you the type of hug you gave me every day. You deserved so much better. Mom, you deserved a child who could appreciate the life you gave them. You didn’t deserve to have me as your child. I’m so, so sorry Mom….

~I’m sorry Dad~

70 hour work weeks are no joke, yet they never seemed to wear you down. I assumed that was just because all adults lived this way. I took you for granted. You drove the night shift at work so you could be home in time to drive me to school. You’d skip sleep to take me to doctor appointments. You would arrive to my softball games in your full work uniform. Most of my games took place in the summer, so it was always hot, yet you never complained. You could only ever catch a few innings before you had to leave, so I would have understood if you just skipped them entirely. But you didn’t. You came and watched and cheered me on. I wasn’t any good at softball, but you never looked away. Now, as I look back, I start to wonder what else you gave up for me, when I couldn’t give you anything in return? How much sleep did you lose because of me? You couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours each day. And your paying for that now. I can see it in how you move, how much even the most basic task hurts you, but you still put everybody else before yourself. You gave up your health to watch this ungrateful brat suck at softball, and you did it all with a smile. You deserved better. Dad, you deserved a child who could appreciate the sacrifices you made for them. You didn’t deserve to have me as your child. I’m so, so sorry Dad….