Tears To Shed(Ch. 1(I think))

Everyone says we're created equal, that we are all the same and that we all think alike. My name is Elysia Raven McCraken(in no way related to Bert McCraken because Im a fictional character that my writer has given the last name of McCraken because she loves the used), and I am a therapist in a menatal ward, its funny though because Im more insane than the people who I see on a regular basis. I suppose I should start a long time before I became insane, before I was who I am today. But before I start allow me to say that none of us are equal, because we all think differently, so never trust someone you first meet because you never know they could put a bullet in your head.1

Your first impression of me might have been that Im cold, distant, shallow bitch that only cares for herself, I would like to deny one statment, I am not shallow. I am cold, because my life has closed many doors for me, I am distant because I was never truly all together, I am not shallow in the very least. Why am I not shallow but cold and distant? Because I once loved, and after that ended my heart became closed. Well I am straying from my topic once again, pardon me. 2

At the time of my birth, my father was nowhere to be seen, my mother thought that he was in another whore house(to put it more nicely than she did). My mother, what a... strange woman. She was bi-polar, a skitso, a manic depressent, OCD, and just about everything else under the sun. My mother had a tiny problem(yes out of all this its tiny) she had a cocaine addiction. By the time I was two I had been in ten different crack houses. My that was fun. As I said my mom was OCD and if you do not know what that means it stands for Obsessive Complusive Disorder, if one thing was out of place, whether it was a hair on my head, or a toy in the living room she went well insane. When I was a small child I knew very well how to make my mother happy, when she went into the back bathroom, do not bother her and if she has a red tent to her eyes do not speak or make any noise, if she is sleeping be as quiet as possible, dont even flush the toliet if you go to use the bathroom, and most importantly never cry, because if you cry you get beat, that was my mothers rule. Even when I was a small infant, and had a right to cry, she would beat me, when I sneezed, when I cried, and when I used the bathroom in a diaper. My mother I guess hated herself and took it out on me, I always thought I was a stepping stone in my mothers life, I never thought she loved me, I always thought I was the only way for her to trap my father into staying with her and not leaving her for someone else. 3

My father is another story. My father was always away on some "buisness trip" that took from four months to a year to complete. If my father was home he never noticed me, and if he did it was only to yell at me, either to bring him another beer, or to get my "good for nothing poor excuse of a fat bitch mother to get her ass out of bed", what a father figure. Usually if it was the second I'd get beaten, not only by one but of two of my "parents". I suppose thats why I have anger problems, bcause if I yelled back I get slapped in the face, or punched across the ear something like that. My father was never a "father" he was more of a fling my mother had when she was down, or when he had nowhere else to go, thats why I never called the man dad, I always called him by his first name, Kyle. Sometimes I would call him sir or mister, never would I call him father, and I guess thats why he hated me. 4

To Be Continued...