WHAT IT'S LIKE
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Bradford, England. A broken home. No love, no money and absolutely not a safe place to grow up in. Money was an issue, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
His father. God, what a jerk. Walking around and pretending to be a gentleman, working his ass off as a software engineer. A good friend around town, but no father or husband.
Hitting his mother every day, not being able to help her. He was afraid. Thin and weak was always his known signature as younger. Being called ‘’Skeleton’’. It was not funny. But everyone else thought so.
He would never have a chance against his father - and he hated it. Getting close with her. Hiding in the closet together, whenever he was in a bad mood. Giving each other promises. Talking about running away, escaping and how some day it would just be the two of them. The perfect dream, the perfect unreality.
Preparing for the day he would face his father. Fighting the other kids at school and in time, he got stronger - and angrier.
Getting in trouble, liking it that way. Making his father angry, and making himself fight even more. The dream of getting revenge; getting peace.
Growing up, growing stronger. Turned 16. It was late, it was raining. His father coming home from a night out, drunk, angry and out of control. Getting pissed off by his mother, saying no to cooking dinner for him. He lost it once again. Worse than before. Making his mother bleed, making her cry, making her beg for her life. Finally he could use all that anger he for years had saved for this exact moment. Becoming a strong boy, it surprised his father. Their kitchen turning into a war zone, not ending the way it was supposed to. Purshing his father hard into a glass cabinet. He died.
A mother and a son carrying a body out of a small home in a small town. They knew they had to get out there.
Hello America.
New school, new friends. Seeing his dead father everywhere, haunting him, tormenting him. That’s the thing about guilt. Going crazy, doing crazy things with the most crazy people. He wanted to forget.
Drinking was the way to. Skipping school to drink, to party and to hang out with people older than him. A bad influence. But it felt like the only way.
Graduating, believe it or not.
Getting a job at the local restaurant, moving out. Becoming an adult. Addicted to medication. Sleeping pills. Getting introduced to drug dealers. Giving him great offers. That’s how he became one of them.
Late at night, standing on the street, waiting for the costumer to achieve the pills, giving him a good dime.
