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autumn-notes Status: Member Location: MA Country: United States Gender: Male Age: 18 Type of artist: romantic Registered: Apr 13, 2007 Last online: 97d ago

Aim: AutumnNotes7

Artworks: 22 Scraps: 0 Favourites Given: 0 Favourites Received: 3 Stars Given: 0 Stars Received: 0 Comments Received: 42 Comments Given: 34 Postcount: 36 Pageviews: 43

uhhhhh.... I'm quite convinced I'm a waste of paint along with life, space, and love. I was made out of lust and despair. As corny and cliche and retarded as it sounds, yeah, it's true. Hollywood Beach, Florida where my parents fucked like little redneck bunnies in a trailer. Mom spent the next few months in abandonment and despair while my father worked his ass of and tried to stay sober. Freaked out when he heard I was coming and gave mom a whole lot of shit for it. I guess I was just a little bundle of joy.

We moved to Falmouth, the armpit of MA (literally), where I would grow up to learn that there is no point in a marriage at which the fighting stops, that dishes are meant to be destroyed rather than cleaned in the sink, and anger is the best tool to use to get what you want.

They got divorced.

I had no idea what was going on. I just wanted to make mother happy so I continued to do exactly as I was told: A's and B's until you graduate college. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan to me. Yeah.

So then I spent the next eight years of my life living up to my mother's expectations and trying to achieve, not what I wanted but, what she wanted. She slowly slipped deeper into her alcoholism that somehow managed to sneak past my peripheral vision. All the while I was growing farther and farther from my father.

Then my best friend whom I loved like a brother betrayed me. Did something terrible. Unspeakable. Which is another story in itself.

I spent the next few months after that in emotional stagnation. It catalyzed the eventual explosion I was later to experience in life. I blew up. All my anger and hate for my parents and my former friend bled through my mouth and my eyes and my ears. Stagnation in anger and despair. It was a cesspool, a mess that Freud would refer to as my superego. Yep, anarchy in my head.

My mother saw that she was losing her control over me. She was getting desperate and some nights she would tell me to hit her and kill her in a drunken rage. Of course, at the time I had no idea she was intoxicated. I was so stupid. Nevertheless, I think that was where the hatred of myself really started to take hold of my thought processes. I was constantly wondering why my mother loved me so much after all the shit I put her through. Then another side was so angry at her like she fucking deserved every single nasty word that flew her way. I was failing school. I realized I was a disgrace in her eyes, and I couldn't take much more arguing, so I ran away.

I went to live with my father in Rhode Island which failed miserably. He wanted to take me away from my problems when really he only inflamed my anxiety and agitated my depression. If I didn't fold my clothes HIS way, it was an argument. If I was on the phone too long with my gf that I missed very much, well you get the idea. He would get so worked up some nights and shake his fist and drool and spit like a rabid dog, that I was afraid I might have to kill him in his sleep. Maybe for my own safety or maybe for lying to me and telling me that things would get better, for all that false hope. He let me down again. Yeah.

This was around the time when I took up cutting as a crutch. Worst day of my fucking life. And the two months I spent in RI were rock bottom. I had never come to terms with my death than when dad and I were fighting in the car and he sped up to about 60 mph on a quiet, one way, suburban street.

I freaked.

I told him one night, as we were driving back from Falmouth after a psychiatrist appointment, that I was going to jump out of the car on the highway.

I was admitted to a hospital in Providence. It was half my mother's idea because she wanted me committed and (I suspect) away for good.

I ended up getting out and on some new meds and stuff and going back to live with mom. After some months waiting for some of this to blow over, I realized (finally) that she was a drunk. Was I some kind of idiot? This whole time I thought it was my fault, and I thought I was a piece of shit and that I had the problem. I really began to come down on her drinking. Then the anger grew again. I had never really left that stagnant pool of dead emotion. I began to despise her drinking habits. I began to despise what she tried to pin on ME. I began to despise her because it dawned on me that she loved a bottle of wine MORE THAN HER OWN FUCKING SON. I HATED what she put me through and all those guilt trips FOR THIS!!

I felt it was time for her to pay.

I finally got her to disclose a hidden wine bottle in her closet that she had to lie about and defended for a grueling four hours or around that length of time. I almost gave up my interrogation and believed her. I ACTUALLY TRUSTED HER THAT FUCKING MUCH. Wow. It still surprises me sometimes. I dumped it down the sink. She said she would stop drinking. I don't believe it. I don't believe anything she says anymore. I saw her conviction and listened to her lies she squabbled for; it was pathetic.

She used to tell me that I was number one in her life, but apparently I've been dethroned by the obvious better choice.

I blame a lot of my depression on my parents. Immature? Probably. Granted I'm no angel, but I won't deny what I feel at heart. The fact that they have no idea how to treat me just makes me so... sad, angry, frustrated. I want to love them, but this anger is like a wall. I don't think I was ever treated like an equal or like a son.

As of right now I am in danger of not graduating high school. I fear for my life with my mother whom I grow more and more suspicious of sneaking drinks behind my back. I think she might try to kill me while I'm sleeping which may just be paranoia. The worst part of it all is that I am now certain that she doesn't love me. I wonder now if she regrets picking up the phone to call my father instead of calling to get an abortion like any normal human being would have done. They didn't love each other. Maybe at one point they both loved me. I'm skeptical of my father. My mother is pretty much a lost cause.

That is a gross oversimplification of my life.