Today I ran away. I’ve decided to start keeping a diary so that I can look back and remember what my life used to be like. Why? I’m not really sure why, all I know is that I feel as though I have to. So with out further explanation here I go, I hope this all makes sense.
It all started before I was born when my parents met. I’m not sure how exactly my parents met, so the details are going to be a little foggy, but I think it went something like this; Mom’s drug dealer had just died of a heart attack and she needed to find a new source for her bad habit, that’s when she met Dad. After a few years of dating, Mom got pregnant, they got married and Dad quit the drug dealing business to be a full time parent. Mom on the other hand didn’t want to settle down, and continued to party and drink like she wasn’t pregnant. This of course could really only go one way, bad. Sure enough, after only two months Mom lost the baby.
I think this is when the fighting started, they both blamed each other for Mom having lost the baby. I know I shouldn’t pick sides, but I can’t help but take Dad’s side. He was ready to be a parent, Mom wasn’t. Now I guess one could argue that it was ultimately Dad’s fault because he got Mom pregnant in the first place, but Mom also let him. So, I took Dad’s side.
After a few more miscarriages I was finally born. I remember the first few years of my life like it was yesterday. Mom and Dad never fought, they treated me like I was a miracle, because I was. Though they slowly started to care less and less about me. Maybe when I was a child I was to naive to realize that my parents were fighting, but I fell like they started fighting more the older I got.
Even after they started caring less and less about me they still never let me out of there sight. Mom would drive me to school and made sure I got inside then, after school, Dad would pick me up and I had to be ready to go at 3:00 on the dot and if I wasn’t, the entire car ride home Dad would lecture me on how I “needed to be more responsible” I always ignored him, he wasn’t responsible, why should he get to lecture me on being responsible?
The worst of all though was that I wasn’t allowed to have friends, I had made the mistake in grade school of asking Mom if I could play at a friends house and she told me; “you selfish little brat! You can not have any friends! EVER!” It was the first time Mom had ever been mean to me and I would never forget it. I still don’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to have friends, but I didn’t dare ask. I was so afraid of what Mom or Dad might do to me if they found out I had friends that I put walls up between me and everyone else. It was latter I realized that I could have a friend at school and they’d be clueless, but it was already too late, no one wanted to be my friend.
I wasn’t really sure what to do, I had left Persephone (the city I had lived up until this point) and I didn’t know where I was. I had wondered around, staying out of sight the best I could. didn’t know what to do, so I just kept walking until I couldn’t anymore.
I’ll try and think of something, until next time my dear dairy,