The un-heard screams of the little failure

I dont know what genre this should be. its about me, but its no ordanary diary. its more a horror story, my horror story, my life.


1. Alcohol killed my mom

My mother was murdered when i was little. Not by a gun or a knife, but a self inflicted wound that consumed her. she is still very much alive, but what is left i would not call mom. her heart beats and her lungs work, but the mother i should have had was killed. she was stressed, she turned to wine, not a glass a night, but bottles. she lost all ability to care for me. Im seven and im learning how to cook because mom is semi awake at the bottom of the stairs. i remember a time, she made us pizzas, i was six, james was eight and sophie was four. we would all sit down and talk. i dont remember what about, but i remember it being better than anything. i remember being seven when she just started drinking. i had to become independent. i told no one of what i was going through, couldnt trust anyone because i couldnt admit it to myself. at eight i was cooking for me and my sister regularly. my dad was home more then. when i was ten dad got this "great" promotion. he was gone alot more. james was always nice to me. once, a boy was picking on me, james hit him so hard he fell right on his back, he stomped on this kid till his face poured blood. most would see this as an attack, i saw him as a hero. i saw james as the guy i wanna be. with mom out cold most night me and james had to get her up the stairs, it made me feel sick to see her like that. i would cry in my room, alone and helpless, I would scream for hours into my pillow. no one would hear. one night, james came in while i was sleeping, he said it would get better, he hugged me and i fell asleep. he was my hero.

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