Women are only made for one thing and one thing only. To tarnish and ruin men. We stomp on their egos and feed it to them for breakfast. My mother always said "i was a force to be reckoned with" i mean she wasnt wrong? My first heartbreak was my fat...
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We're all trying to hide from who we really are. We're all treading on big happy smiles that hide who we really are beneath all that "sunshine" and "joy" when in reality , we're all bittersweat and thirst for power. Im a great example of just that. In the open world im all smiles and hugs . But i want to hurt . I want to destroy. And i want to keep doing these things. But i can't . I know if people saw my psychotic tendencies , they'd run for the hills . Or mostly. It would ruin dads reputation.
I was five years old when i was diagnosed with IED. Intermittent explosive disorder. Do you know how it feels to be stuck with a million voices inside your head everyday ?and the only thing that could take them away are the pills that the doctor prescribed me. I wanted to fucking shove the pills up my dads ass so far that he'll choke on them. It didn't help that he was an utter control freak. He wanted me to be the best hockey defensemen in the whole of fucking Seattle.
I sometimes loved the fact that mom got to escape him. Shes probably up there watching her husband do a poor job at being a parent. And it didn't help that mom died in a horrible accident just after bringing me from the hospital after discovering my "sickness". One mintue we were in silence as she sped through traffic. She looked away for one second. One miserable second to check her phone. That one second meant so much. One second to just take her life ...poof just like that. The next sounds were sirens . I remember it being so faint as my body felt like it had been run over by a truck. When i used all my strength and uttered the word Mom and no reply came back? I knew right there and then. My mom was free. Rid from this cruel world and endless pits of suffering .
She was free and i was left with the guilt of letting her die . She was free . As hits came everyday. She was free when dad fucked someone else two months later. She was free and i wasn't.
My last memories of her was her crying in the doctors room. Demanding a cure for my sickness? I didn't think it was a sickness. I guess i was slightly different from others . Or in other words. Angry. I remember her crying so loud in the doctors room after finding out i was just another victim of the outside world. And i blame myself for it. I blame myself for her death. Maybe if she would've still been here . I wouldn't have to suffer alone in this endless pits of rage and the only way out is if im surrounded by people who distracted it for a bit. Or maybe i wouldn't have to get a punch to the face every single fucking time we lose a hockey game.
I looked forward to the days that we would win. That would be the day dad smiles. And i would cherish that moment . Every single time i would cherish it. Because i know. It won't last long. We'll always lose another game. And I'll always get bruised in the ribs or fucking face.
I could fight back. I knew i could. But i knew...i knew if i started. I wouldn't stop. And i wouldn't suffer one , but two losses of a parent. And i couldn't tell a single soul about this. Dad shoved his foot into my face at 10 when i asked him if i could tell rahul. He made me swear. He fucking made me swear on my mothers grave that i wouldn't tell anyone about my "disease".
