After Michelle's mom dies her dad goes into a depression for years. But when he comes out of it will everyone wish he didn't? When her nightmares get worse is there anything she can do to stop her fathers rage? Will her siblings believe her or leave her, she must find the truest form of life before hers is swept away like so many before her. Life is a puzzle.


3. I changed?

I was admittedly different , I used to be bold and boisterous, leaping head first into situations I had no right to. Now I am nothing more than a shy smile or a quiet murmur if anything. I took up reading as a hobby, it was the best idea I had ever had; it was a great way to be alone with your thoughts and block out the world. It also allowed me to lose myself in something that I wasn't being forced to live. You know how most teenagers say FML or that their life sucks, I always want to tell people like that, that I would gladly switch lives. Home became an unknown obstacle, we all still cried but no one liked to share. We tried to avoid one another for a while but after the hurt left I just felt empty, if ever, I needed my family now. I needed people to fill the fissures in my tiny heart. It seemed to shrink after every break. I lost friends but I didn't make any new ones, I just didn't have anymore breakable room inside me.

Eventually I stopped telling people that she had died. They all just judged me and whispered behind my back, right, like I couldn't hear them.

I hated people, they were mean and obnoxious, no one could keep a secret. So I locked my heart and buried they key with mom; she would keep it safe for me. I felt safe, and safe was good, because when the safe feeling leaves all you want is for it to come back.

I am officially enrolled into therapy, which is a total waste of time and effort. We never learned anything that could help me. But I had it already figured out. I locked all my memories in a book in my head and put it on a shelf until it got dusty, then I would take it down and cry some, but I couldn't make myself open it.

There was so much I couldn't remember but the things I do remember I'm not sure if I did or didn't imagine them, I was so little it wasn't my fault that the only memories I have of mom is the ones I've made up in my head, like the one where she is in a hospital bed bleeding out and I'm the only one that notices and she dies because I can't manage to say anything.

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