Chapter 1. Loss At a Young Age
From the exact moment my parents died, it felt as though the universe had violently tilted off its axis. What took place over the course of the next month was absolute madness. To this day, I can’t logically comprehend or physically explain how half of it was even possible. There were times I was completely alone, and times I was surrounded by people, but using a word like spooky is a massive understatement. Let's call it what it was: there was some serious demonic shit going on.
Now, my parents weren’t perfect. They had a lot of heavy baggage. Bless my father—he didn't have it easy at all, but he was the hardest worker I’ve ever known. He never missed a single day of work and he always tried to be honest. I love him for that, and no one can take it away from him. Then there was my mother. She definitely had a brutal hand dealt to her, especially having to raise the teenage version of me. If I had to describe myself back then, imagine a bipolar, fiercely stubborn, utterly selfish kid with a dark obsession with serial killers, a fascination with Lucifer, heavy metal blaring, and a "whatever-you-got" mentality toward drugs and alcohol. I give that woman massive credit because, against all odds, she knew how to handle me at times. But it wasn’t easy, and it only grew heavier during her final days. I still carry a lot of guilt and shame from that era.
So, it shouldn't be hard to imagine that when they passed, they left something lingering around me. Something that stubbornly refused to leave.
