First Entry
October 21st, 2006
Dear Mother,
I'm writing this with the confidence that I would not normally have, because I know you'll never see it. Cowardly I know, but it's the only way I can get everything off my chest without getting harmed. I used to think when I was little that you just had a hard time showing your love for me, expressing your emotions. But as the years went by, I've come to the conclusion; that you never loved me at all.
I still wonder every night, as I'm lying in bed...what I did to deserve your hatred; Mother. What did I do? All I did was love you, do everything you ever asked; and my thanks was being beaten. Do you know what it feels like to have somebody who's supposed to love you unconditionally, and forever; tell you how worthless you are? How nobody could ever love you, or even stomach to touch you? Well I do, and it hurts. You tell me all the time how you're so repulsed by me that you can't even stand to hug or kiss me, it hurts.
I can't dwell on that right now, because there are a lot of questions I don't have the answer to. Like why was I born? Why am I stuck with you for a mother? Why don't I have any friends? Why am I gay? Why is it that sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror, I want to scream till I have no voice left? Well I have an answer for that last one; it's probably because a habit due to the years of you yelling at me.
The whole reason for starting these entries is because of today. Today was my birthday, an anniversary for my birth, HA. You didn't even remember, and even if you did; you wouldn't have seen it as an occasion to celebrate. No. I spent my entire birthday crying, and cleaning the house for you; while you were out all day. Then when you came home and saw me crying, you laughed at me. What was it that you called me, Mother? A pussy? Yes I believe so. Then you expressed how ashamed you were at having a pussy for a son, and you proceeded to burn me with your cigarette. I now have a burn on my arm.
Except the pain of the burn doesn't hurt me, nor did it. I can cope with pain; I've been dealing with it for years. I feel empty inside, deprived. The burn didn't hurt as much as you forgetting my birthday. Sometimes I feel so damn foolish; because of how conflicted you make me feel. Sometimes I hate you so much I wish you would just die, or fade away. Yet deep down I know I still love you, and it kills me. It kills me that I still love somebody so much, who has nothing but hatred toward me.
Is it because dad left? Is it because I'm ugly? Why do you hate me Mother? Why am I not worthy of your love?
-Ryan-
Second Entry
January 21st, 2007
Dear Woman Who Gave Birth to Me,
I don't feel much quite like referring to you as my mother at this moment, because you don't act like one; at least not like the mothers I see. The mothers I see are the ones who pick up their kids from school. The ones who will drop everything they are doing to pick up their sick child, or even to run in and drop off lunch money when it is forgotten; sadly I wasn't blessed with such good luck.
Today, I find it especially hard to give you such a title, after the events that took place yesterday. It started out as a nice day, I actually felt good for once...like I was something, somebody; important. I got dressed, and went to school. There was a spelling test today, one that I knew I would pass, because I was good at the subject at hand.
I passed the test, with a 99; highest grade in my class. The rest of the school day, I was treated...amazingly. The kids didn't pick on me as usual, instead they looked to me as intelligent; and I began to finally believe I was...even with your constant obvious doubt of that.
What were those words again?
Ignorant, Stupid, Idiotic, Retarded.
I came home to show you, and never had I been more proud of myself. I thought finally that maybe you would have looked at me in a different light, maybe see that I was deserving of some love; even a tiny bit of affection. I was so stupid, and so wrong. I woke you up; I didn't think there was a problem with it. I mean after all, you had work at 4:00...so what was the big deal of me waking you up at 3:20? Excitedly I showed you the paper, in which me, your son, had achieved something that nobody else in his class could.
You beat me. Beat isn't the right word here, you ravaged me. I never felt more pain in my life, than in that exact moment. It ended with me crying myself to sleep, and you leaving. I didn't see you for that whole day, but when I finally woke up, I had a sharp pain in my left arm; it was sprained. I didn't know what to do; I went to the hospital and told them that I got into a fight with a kid. They bought it.
They mended me up, and I came back home. I got home around 1:00 AM and you still weren't home. Your work got out at 10:30, so where were you? Where was my mother? Where was the woman who was supposed to tell me that everything would be alright? That she was sorry and it would never happen again? I didn't even get that anymore. The "apologies" and the "it will never happen again" stopped happening five years ago.
Now? I don't get any time with you, unless you're hitting me. I'm your favorite punching bag, Mother. Hit me until your pain fades away.
-Ryan-
Third Entry
February 14th, 2007
Dear Mother,
I'm sorry for being born. I feel as though I'm a constant burden to you, and for that I apologize. Today at school, was maybe one of the worst days of my life, it cemented the fact that I am a disgusting creature that nobody could ever hope to love. Today was Valentine's Day, usually one that makes me feel all warm inside. The thought that there's a spectral baby flying around shooting people with arrows is silly, but the thought that everybody has a chance to fall in love and be happy with another person, is far from that in my mind. I just wish that somebody would tell me that they love me, that I'm special. Give me a tiny bit of hope that maybe I'm worth something to them, that I'm important. I want somebody to rush at me, pick me up in their arms, and never let me go. But that will never happen, you've seen to that personally.
It's dumb to expect anybody to fall in love with me, with the same three outfits I wear every week full of holes. Also quite dumb to expect anybody to find me attractive with the bruising and scratching across my face. Which by the way, a teacher did question (finally?) about why I come to school looking so tattered. No, don't worry. I didn't tell her anything, except that I live in a bad neighborhood and get into fights constantly. So don't worry, your perfect reputation in the community is safe. Hurry!
I wish that coming home could protect me from the pain I feel in school everyday, but it's like a double-edged sword. I get beaten up in school, and I get beaten up at home. Maybe some people are just meant to be beaten…maybe some people just attract others wanting to hurt them. Is it something that I've said or done? Maybe it's my face. All I know is, Mother, you should stop holding back when you beat me. If you go far enough, who knows, maybe then all of our problems will be solved.
-Ryan-
Fourth Entry
March 1st, 2007
Dear Mother,
I'll never leave your coffee on too long ever again. The beating I received was far worse than anything I could have imagined. I knew you like your coffee fresh, not burnt, yet stupidly I fell asleep, leaving your coffee to burn. You didn't do what I asked you to do last time, which was to kill me. No. You left me alive, controlling yourself so carefully like a doctor, choosing specifically what part of me to injure, so you could keep me in this agony. When using your hands wasn't good enough, you switched to a plank of wood, and then pressed the burner against my leg. It hurts to walk; my leg is in throbbing pain. I guess it truly is my fault, not just in your head. Maybe the fact that I do these kinds of things; leave your coffee on, make you the wrong dinner, scream and cry while you're beating me (trying to make you feel bad, you say) is why you can never love me. I wish I didn't do these kinds of things, but I'm only 15…I just want my mommy. I want you to love me and say you're sorry for the hitting. I want you to say April fools, that the beatings were only some sort of sick joke and that you've always loved me and were just messing around with me. I want you to be able to hug me without getting repulsed. What did I do mommy? What did I do?
-Ryan-
Author's Note: So here's the deal. This is an original story, one that I created over a year ago. It's about Ryan obviously, and he's a very interesting character. Timid, shy, and struggling for a normal life, even with others around him trying to bring him down. This story gets very graphic and sad, so I suggest caution when reading. It sucks that doesn't have a bracket for original work, but meh, who cares? I listed TV-show misc, because I might bring in some characters from "Supernatural" later on...but I won't explain why, it may come obvious to you. :P
So please stick with me, and I promise this story will be a roller-coaster of emotions.
P.S: I will be updating Chapter 1 (Ryan's Journal) as the story progresses, because he will be updating it as he goes through his life. So new chapters, and the editing of this one. Enjoy :)
