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That Was The Year
That was the year where my life completely tore apart. I was sent to a foster home, had no contact with my friends and, most of all, no contact with my baby sister. All I could think to myself was, how was she? Hopefully not bad, I hope someone reads her a bed time story, hopefully she doesn't pick the same book every night... Is she okay? I need to see her, she’s only six. I don’t want to be here. I hate this place. Where are you God? Where are you when I need you? Why did you pick me to go through this? I'm only fifteen. My life is over now, I really have nothing. Just myself. Kelly’s probably in a bed trying not to cry, I always sang Mocking Bird by Eminem to her and she’d fall fast asleep. But then mom and Charlie would always wake her up. If it wasn’t about the money it would be about, “Why are you out so late? Or Are you drunk?” S***. God I couldn’t stand it.
They’re the reason why I’m even in this place. The reason why Kelly’s all alone. I swear on everything I’ll find her. I don’t care how long it takes. Reality has finally planned itself in my mind: all I really have is me now. After all the years of putting up with this s*** and trying to keep myself sane, I should be happy that the fighting has at least stopped. But I'm not. I'm miserable. I lock myself in my own world. Music is my only escape. When I'm happy I enjoy the music, and when I'm sad... I understand it.
I remember the first time he ever layed his dirty hands on her. They were arguing about money, how everything was so uptight, and how we didn't even have enough to eat. He always gave my mom s*** about our house always looking like a dump. He shoved her against the wall, yelled at her, screamed at the top of his lungs calling all sorts of names. All she said was "Andrew go into your room, go hurry!" but I didn't listen. Then he did it. He punched her. She instantly fell in the floor. Blood was all over her face. I just stood there. From that moment on I knew my life would never be the same.
It kept on happening, except it just kept got worse. I didn't know what to do. Should I stand up for her or just go lock myself in my room? Should I pretend like nothing was happening? Coming home after school was the worst. I hated it. I knew what was going to happen, it was the same routine every damn day.
No one knew. I couldn't tell anyone what was going on because I was scared people would just laugh in my face, just like they made fun of me when my dad left. I remember sitting in front of the door with my bags packed right next to me, waiting for him to pick me up one day. He said he would come back, but where is he now? He left me when I really needed him, and I doubt he gives a s*** about me now. I hate him, and not just for leaving me, but for forgetting about me too. I don’t matter to him anymore because if I did he’d still be in my life right at the moment. I wouldn’t be going through all this s*** right now. Thanks a lot dad. I hope you burn in hell.
I sat down and talked to a therapist for the first time in my life. I just wanted to tell her everything. I had so much built up over the past few years. I needed to vent, but I didn’t want her to think I was some wimpy little kid that couldn’t be a man. I wish I could have told her about Charlie beating my mom, about how worthless I felt in the inside, about how I wish I could just die. I don’t feel like living anymore. I don’t know what my purpose in life is anymore.
When I walked into the room the first thing I noticed were all the toys and stuffed animals. She told me to sit down, her name was Brenda. She looked Hispanic, and she was about 5 foot short. She asked me how I was and I lied to her. “Fine,” I said, but in the inside I was dying. She kept asking me all these questions that I knew the answers to, but all I could say to her was, “I don’t know.” Brenda asked me about my dad, and when she said, “Your father,” my immediate response was, “ I don’t want to talk about him.” She respected the fact that I didn’t want to talk about him, and I’m glad she did. I liked her. She knew how to ask questions and knew how to react to everything.
It was fifteen minutes before our session was over and I finally let it out. “Why do I have to go through this right now? What did I do to deserve this bulls---?!” She took a deep breath and said, “It’s common for families to go through rough patches…” she paused, I didn’t realize that she noticed I was crying. She handed me a box of tissues, but instead of using the tissues, I used my sleeve because that’s what I was used to doing. I’ve never had anyone just hear me out. I was always quiet around my friends. I felt like I could never trust them with my problems, like they would judge me and wouldn’t want to hang out with me. When we hung out, I rarely even talked and only spoke up if I found the topic interesting. By the time I knew it, our session was over.
We said good bye to one another, and as Brenda walked me outside I saw Allison, the social worker working on my case.
We hopped onto her car and drove back to my foster home, St. Lucy’s. During the entire car ride I listened to music. Even though I knew she wanted to talk to me. I wasn’t ready to talk to her. All I could think of was why my life was such a mess. I just wanted to scream and kick things. I wanted to let the whole world know that I wasn’t okay. Sometimes I just wished that it was all a dream, but as much as I wanted that, I knew it would never come true.
When we got to St. Lucy’s, she tapped my shoulder as I walked up the stairs, I took my ear bud out and said, “What’s up?” She looked at me and said, “Let’s talk.” We walked into a room, and she asked me how I felt after talking to Brenda. I told her, “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know, Andrew?”
“I don’t know Allison-I just don’t know okay?!” I started raising me voice.
“Calm down Andrew.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, you have no damn idea what I’m going through!”
“Actually, I do,” She said.
“No you don’t! My life is full of empty promises and broken dreams. You don’t know what it’s like to see your mom get beat every damn day, to get pushed around and punched. Every time I try to just be my damn self, someone always has to judge me. You don’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like to be me. You’d have to walk a thousand miles in my shoes just to see what it’s like to be me. Don’t give me some bulls--- explanation about how this happens to a lot of people. I don’t need your pity. Leave me alone. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be in this hell-hole!”
I walked out the room and slammed the door shut. As I walked out of St. Lucy’s, I knew what I did was wrong. It wasn’t her fault, but I just needed to release all these emotions that had been built up for so long. I felt better, but at the same time, I felt like such an a-- for saying all of that to Allison. I knew she meant well but she doesn’t understand anything that I’m going through… no one does. I just want to sit down and break down into tears but my pride won’t let me. I know when I go back, I’m going to be in trouble. But I don’t care anymore. I might not even go back anymore. Why should I go back? I found myself walking on the San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge, I leaned against it looking down at the water. And I thought to myself… maybe it’s just time to give up.