My love for literature and fiction began at early age, finding myself reading as many books as i could get my hands on, since my childhood, i have grown my interest in stories of all kinds to include video games, television, and comics.
Let's start from the beginning, lets start with my mother's eating disorder. My mother was a woman who did not eat due to the traumas imparted on her by her grandparents, people I had never met. Mom was told she was fat from her hospital bed as a teen when she passed out because she was so underweight. She had no clue when she was with child how often children ate, as she didn't consume on a daily basis, asking my grandma "do babies have to eat every day?". The news rippled across my family as people realized with a start that she was in no way fit or prepared to be a parent.
"Your mom is missing", the words resonated through my soul for days, "she ran away" I knew she would be back, I knew she couldn't hide forever. I was at school, sitting in the "cozy corner" a small area covered in sheep skins and pillows. This would be the third day in a row I had spent my recess inside, an act that drew gentle teasing from my classmates. I was not upset because she had abandoned my brother an I again so much as I was aware she would be found, and when she was her life would be incredibly hard.
I spent the first half of my life entranced with the idea that my life was simply a book, my psychiatrist later told me it was a "trauma response." I narrated each move made, each emotion felt to the most minute of detail. People would assume I had ADHD, when in reality I was just mulling over the overwhelming wall of text that had become my life. I was 23 when my psychiatrist told me, while I sat sequestered in my room at the mental hospital, about the book theory.
TOME 9 We set out early in the morning, the dew from the night prior quietly dripping from nearby trees. It was cold and we were unprepared for this walk, but I could not be dissuaded from leaving. "Come on Alex!" I said walking briskly in front of him as he was wiping the sleep from his eyes. We were about a fourth of a mile away from our new house, and completely alone amongst the sound of frogs.
I squandered my childhood on raising my brother, on saving my bio mom time and time again. I miss what could have been to this day, but I wouldn't change a thing. Despite being destroyed in the process I wouldn't want to change a thing about the events that transpired. I allowed my brother enough room to grow in my wake, while keeping my bio mom alive for long enough to get her out of that house.
The familiar sound of harps cascaded in my bedroom window, signaling it was Wednesday. I stood absentmindedly as I came to realize I did not have money for food at the farmers market today. With a heavy sigh I crossed my small yet messy apartment in search of food that would not come. I had odds and ends which did not meet.
She found herself sequestered in a barn as if it had always been her home. She was running from her brother, who had once been the most important person in her life. Her brother had since changed, he had become someone she only recognized as his father, a cruel and unintelligent man. She hoped not to see either of them again, hoped to simply move to another town and hide away the rest of her life.
I spent the majority of my childhood through young adulthood looking over my shoulders in paranoia. I spent most of my youth fearful that I would be kidnapped again. My worst fear was that barbaric thought experiment that my bio mom's husband attempted on me. I remember the fear and hatred I felt as being whisked away from my dad, who loved me, and did his best to protect me.