All I have ever wanted to be is an author. For my entire life, I've always felt like it was my destiny. This was helped by my single mother English major that didn't have time to read me to bed and read her assignments while also keeping me fed and housed. So from an early age, I was being read adult literature. Honestly, the only children's book I even enjoyed being read was Guess How Much I Love You. But my favourite was Poe. I would beg for him, cry actual tears if she refused me until she would give in. I could read on my own before Kindergarten, and I would always tell people that I wanted to be E.A.P. when I grew up. I know that sounds kinda fucked up, but turns out I'm kinda fucked up and always have been, so whatever. I was living my best life.

This wasn't helped, however, by my shithat father, who told me at age 5, "You'll never be talented enough to even get published, let alone make any money off of it," and, "When you're starving and living under a bridge, don't call me," while chugging a can of Budweiser and scratching his patchy 5 o'clock shadow. So then it became more than my passion; the element of vengeance for my childhood innocence became a factor. And to give you a pretty clear image of him, just think classic trashy, deadbeat, alcoholic that's one of those 1 in 3 kids with an abusive parent goes on to abuse their own children.

So I constantly strived to be a better writer, reading many years ahead of my age group and doing nothing with my life but tell stories. Honestly, it was one of the few skills I really put forth effort in. School naturally came easy, so I never had to try there to succeed. But my teachers always underestimated my writing abilities. I earned an A- on a writing assignment once, and I scored badly because I did it the night before and forgot a bibliography. With every assignment, I asked for critiques face to face. They rarely came back with many negative notes on them, and they were always small, nit-picky things like a few punctuation changes and maybe a few synonym suggestions. Asking face to face rarely yielded better results. They seemed to always see it as, "For what we can expect from someone age, this is pretty much perfect." My mom tried, but once I got older it got harder to share my writing with her. We were going through rough times and I didn't trust her enough then.

Read:  Creative Writing Major

But then I was accepted into a charter high school for the arts and there I met the man who understood there wasn't a limit with me, that he could always make me write better. And more than just hone my writing abilities, he knew how to read between the lines. He knew my entire life story, start to end, and he always found a way to also help me learn how to breathe in the life that seemed intent on suffocating me. My favourite will always be, "Even badasses have to cry sometimes." I'm crying just typing it out, mostly because he gave me the self confidence to allow myself to feel, but also partly because his voice is fading in my memory and I would give anything to have it back.

My writing abilities were at their peak as of September 25th, 2016. As of September 26th, 2016, I have not been able to find the emotional strength inside of me to write. But writing is all I've ever been, all I've ever done, and the only healthy coping mechanism I've ever had. As of 2am this morning for some godforsaken reason, it was back. I'm not sure if it's permanent, but even if it's not, I haven't felt this good in years. Literally. It's just a short, short story, but it's more than I've done since he's died.

Thanks for reading, if you bothered. I'm sorry, I know this was long, but I had to get this off my chest. ^.^'

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