Growing Up

I was born into this life with a mother and a father. The same as everyone else. I had ten fingers and ten toes. I wasn't born with any defects. Life should be perfect, or, in the very least, normal. It wasn't. That would be too easy. Two months in and my father couldn't hack it. Left me on my own with my incompetent mother. Still, it should've been normal. People are raised by single parents all the time. Those parents however were not my mother. She was a gem. Of course, this is all hearsay. I don't remember anything before I turned three.

My first memory. It brings back a horde of memories. The screams are loud. The wall is hard. His fist is harder. Blood doesn't taste good. My mother doesn't love me. My first memory should be a happy one. If only I could be that lucky. It's strange, I grew accustomed to the taste of blood. It didn't take long for me to figure out people suck. That all people suck. Trust no one and you never get hurt. I was a quick learner.

One guy left. Another one was never far away. They were all the same. They drank. They did drugs. They all believed in action first and talking never. This isn't a fairytale. Huh. I should've mentioned that before. They never talked to me. They yelled. They argued. They bullied me. They abused me. It was normal, or so I thought. I was just a kid. They should know better. They didn't. They were all the same. The only common factor was my mother.

We were poor. My mother worked a shitty job. She never saved any money. Wasted it all on booze. Picked all the wrong guys. They stole from her. From us. We never had much food. I was lucky to get enough. I never complained though. I learned that the hard way. Blood began to taste good. When you don't eat much even your own blood starts becoming appetizing.

We lived in the city. The city was actually good. High crime rate. Lots of people. Loud noises. I loved the noise. It helped me block everything out. Helped me forget. Helped me sleep. We lived in a crappy two bedroom apartment. I was actually lucky. The kitchen and living room was one room. Not that it mattered. We had one couch and my mother never cooked.

My birthdays came and went. I never once got anything. I took it upon myself to steal a book from the library each year. The only reason I remembered the date was because I looked forward to my book stealing adventure all year. It was the only time I stole. Unless it was an apple here and there when I could feel my stomach turning on itself.

No holidays were celebrated in our crappy apartment. I didn't even know Christmas existed until later. I lost my teeth. Didn't matter though. I never knew the tooth fairy existed. Easter bunny. Not a chance. Free chocolate. I'd be in heaven and we couldn't have that. I'd be lucky if I didn't get the chance to taste my blood when that holiday came around. Fourth of July. Comforting bangs and flashes of light. New Year's Eve. I always wondered why the fireworks went off at the same time every year. It was like clockwork. I never knew why.

Year after year. I counted the years by my birthday and nothing else. I didn't know when the year kicked over for everyone else, but for me it was always on my birthday. All this could've been avoided if we had a television. I would've even settled for a radio. We had neither.

My mother hardly talked to me. When she did she was drunk. She was a mean drunk. Her boyfriends were meaner. She was supposed to teach me these things. She was supposed to be there for me. It was her job. She spent half her time at work. Half her time at some bar. I hardly ever saw her at home. When she came home she was always drunk. She reeked of alcohol. She slurred. She stumbled. I avoided her.

I looked after myself. I learned early. Oliver helped me a lot with that. Oliver Twist. It was the present I gave myself for my fifth birthday. I don't know how I learned to read. It seemed to be instinctual. Oliver was my escape. Oliver taught me what I had to do to survive. Oliver kept me entertained. Oliver gave me hope. He was just like me in many ways. I could relate to him. He found his family in the end and I hoped I'd be so lucky. Time passed. I gave up hope.

I was blissfully unaware in so many ways. I wish I could go back before everything I thought was normal was suddenly not. I knew no different. So why would I think there was any different. I figured everyone had the same life as me. The same upbringing. It all changed. My world around me just crashed. In many ways, I was thankful I now had the truth. Some days, I wished I never knew. It's easier to live without knowing. Eventually, I decided it was better knowing. So in a way, I guess, school saved me.