My Mentality And Why I M A Screw-Up

My Mentality and Why I’m a Screw-Up

I am a screw up. It’s a simple fact. I won’t deny it. I understand that everyone messes up, but I do mess up quite a lot. I was born to two very ordinary people living in a rather ordinary area. My mother and father are loving parents that had tried to have my brother, but he died. About a year later, I came around and I lived. A bit after my birth, a year or so, my mother was ill. Not the type of sleep-it-off ill, but the you-might-die ill. My mother was scared beyond repair, needing to learn like a baby and forced to walk like an elderly woman. I didn’t see this as odd or have pity, this is the way she was since I could remember. Her long, black locks and her sunshine smile were still the same. Her …show more content…
Mum was dying again. The priests and doctors thought she would die. She did, slipping into a coma and hemorrhaging. She looked peaceful, but her body was as cold as ice when I tried to wake her up, pounding on the corpse that was my beautiful mother. The three day funeral was a blur. All of it was a giant blur, like when you go on the tilt-a-whirl at the carnival and the world is a random streak of color and light. Nothing fully settled in until I was eight. I was home, Dad was out back. He was working hard to get our old pool ready so my cousins and I could have fun and splash around. I was crying, alone in my cold house, and slowly floated into the kitchen. I opened the knife drawer and let a knife hover in front of my abdomen. My hands immediately let go of the knife after I heard my dad marching up the wooden stairs, and I ran back into his room to watch T. …show more content…
My paranoia was buzzing louder and louder, anxiety shaking every bone in my body, depression darkening the corners of sight. I lied about my emotions, because that’s everything I’m used to. My acts, my facade, they were the things that comforted a young girl and comfort an adolescent. Feeling unfamiliar in a female body, not wanting to be a male, falling for boys, girls, and people of other identities—it was too much. My identity issues were crashing down. I felt like Atlas. I began to think about the bridge near my work, and how inviting the sense of euphoria would be once I jumped over the side of it. I’d die. I’d be free, I’d be in cold, calm, darkness. I would be free, and everyone free of