You found Me (Zak Bagans)

Rewrite Part 1

I've decided to rewrite this story because I was very young when I wrote the original. This is part 1 of 3. This rewrite will be different from the original.

Everything I can remember started at age four and I know things went on before then. My father died in a car crash the year I started being able to remember everything. Sometimes I wish it could have happened before then so I won't dwell on the few moments I was able to share with him. I'd rather remember nothing at all. When I was ten, mother kicked out my older brother. I wish she would have kicked me out too. She hated us both with an undeniable passion. The only time she was able to barely love us was when our dad was alive.

When I was thirteen I began to cut myself. It wasn't because I wanted to hurt myself, it was to hurt my mother. She was infatuated with being beautiful, and she was. She preferred having attractive people around her and at the time I wasn't good enough. I cut to make myself uglier, to make her furious of my appearance.

"I hate her." I whispered as I pulled the cold blade across my left forearm. I didn't have access to an actual razor blade, so I dismantled a women's razor and used the small blade.

The blood began to pool on my forearm, it was deeper than I had ever cut before. I sat on the floor. This is my chance, I thought, to escape her. Blood covered my blue jeans.

"Roxanne!" she came through the door into the bathroom where I sat. "You idiot," she growled, "I wanted beautiful children and I got you." Her words hurt more than the cut. She had never said anything like that to me before. Before I could register what was happening, she wrapped a towel around my arm and secured it with the belt from a bath rode that was hanging on the back of the door. The pressure hurt but she saved my life.

I still don't know why she did. Was it because I made her dinner every night? So she wouldn't have to when she came home from work. I took care of her. She was supposed to look out for me, but she never did.

The one night I had forgotten to cook dinner for here, was the same night she was fired from her minimum wage job. She ran into my room and picked me up with the strength I never knew she had. She slammed me against the wall and began taking out her frustrations on me. It hurt like hell but she didn't stop. The neighbors heard me screaming and called the police. They arrived seeing me half conscious on the floor. My face swelling.

"What's going on here?" The officer asked glancing down at me and then at my mother. Before i had the chance to open my swollen lips she began to cry.

"She came at me with a knife," she sobbed "I was just trying to defend myself." Her tears were convincing. But what knife? The officer kneeled down next to me and picked up the knife that she had placed in my right hand. It had blood on it. I looked at her and she had given herself a stab wound in her leg. Her dedication was serious, she wanted to get rid of me.

I was 15 when I was taken to the asylum. An asylum that was hidden away in the outskirts of Las Vegas. Very few people knew it was there, it was hard to find. They diagnosed with episodes of psychotic rage. Five years later I was still there and was wondering why I hadn't been released yet. I was old enough to decide if I wanted to be there, but they never took my opinion into consideration.

I sat in the "living room" and watched Ghost Adventures. I found the show the year I was taken here.

A year after I had been taken here by the police, I finally felt comfortable leaving my room. I walked down the hall into the living room. No one else was in there, except for a teenager who looked like he was seventeen. He was watching tv, Ghost Adventures was running. I sat down on the opposite end of the couch as him.