Where do I start?

From the beginning, right?

I am a college student. Yes, I know thats not the beginning, but it make sense to start here.

I am in my third year of my Bachelors degree.

My major? Psychology, how ironic.

I am twenty years old, living on my own (with roommates of course, because who can actually live on there own anymore in college???). I like to think I live pretty comfortably for a twenty year old. I have a nice apartment, nice things, and I don’t necessarily live paycheck to paycheck. I can’t say that I hate my living situation, but I don’t love it either. I want to fast forward to the “good” parts of life. The family, the nice house, the nice car, blah blah blah. I want all that “good” but I can’t say that I actually picture that in my future. I don’t really picture anything in my future, its just.. blank.

I go to school full time and I work full time. I don’t have much time to think of my future because I am too busy fighting for it.

How did I get this far?

My life is pretty normal. My days often look very similar to most of the population around me. I did have some excitement growing up though.

I had the basic sob story of “oh my parents are divorced” so I had two different homes.

I lived with my mom for most of my childhood, visited my dad every other weekend. My mom had us moving every other month it felt like. But she always kept us in the same town so I never had to switch schools. For awhile things were really awesome. My mom was engaged, we lived in a gorgeous house. The biggest house I have ever lived in. My mom had a good job with a trucking company and things felt good, right. This is the time in my life where I met my best friend. She lived a couple houses down, and since the very first day we met, we never left each others side. She is still my best friend to this day, I wouldn’t be here without her.

The nightly screaming, punching walls and slamming doors wasn’t a good start to the rest of your life. The marriage didn’t go through, what a surprise. The house was soon empty. Just my mom, me and my brother in this big house. We made things work for awhile, my mom made enough money to keep the house. I remember we turned one of the empty rooms into a guest room/ game room. I spent most of my nights in there listening to music until I would fall asleep. I spent a lot of time alone.

My mom lost her job that year. We had to leave the house, but had no where to go. So we moved in with my moms boyfriend at the time. Little did we know that is where things all went down hill. Don’t get me wrong, I have great memories from that point in my life, but that is also the point in my life where I began to feel my mental illness unpacking her bags. This is the time when she decided that she is here to stay. I did not notice her at first, a little here and there but no one talks about mental health, so I was uneducated about myself. Uneducated about my future struggles.

Uneducated about who I was and who I would become.

Most of this part is a blur to me now. Moms boyfriend who we were living with was nice when he wanted to be, and he could be nice. He helped us out more then we could have asked for, so in return he would scream at my mom for hours and throw glass beer bottles at her to repay her for all he had done. They were off and on, and that meant whenever they were “off” we had to pack everything we owned into my moms truck within a couple of hours and be off to find somewhere to stay, just to be right back at his house again by the end of the week. This went on for awhile, and then we left one last time. Packed everything up, and went an stayed at one of her old coworkers house. He gave me my own room to put all my stuff in. I can remember that night. I remember laying in the bed that wasn’t mine, surrounded by my stuff in boxes, crying myself to sleep. Crying into my hands to mask the noise so my mom wouldn’t hear.

We didn’t stay there long, we moved into my moms friends house. We ended up living with them for a year or so, and then they moved out leaving us with this house to rent. It wasn’t bad. The house was a nice size, I could walk to school and the bus would pick up my brother right down the street. We lived here for a couple years. That was the last house I lived in with my mom and brother.

That was the last house I got to fight with my mom in, and the last house I got to be madder than hell at my brother in. That is the house that mended my brothers and I together. That is the house that I left most of my heart in.

That was the year my mom was incarcerated, and my world crumbled beneath me.



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