Severus 5th year . Lucius 6th year
A life-changing letter.
An elderly wizard in a purple and black pinstripe suite steps up to the outside of his business early that morning but later than usual. It was a Monday and he had been drinking the night before. Oh well, even magic makes mistakes. He pulls his mail from the drop box attached to the owl branch that sits beside the front door and as the door unlocks, he sifts through scrolls and envelopes. His attention suddenly lands on a white muggle styled casing and he looked around at the modestly busy magic street before flipping it over and reading,
"IN PLACE OF SEVERUS SNAPE. APT. 5:30PM." Was written in a bold elegant script.
The man narrowed his eyebrows and quickly went inside and checked his files. The Ministry's Child State of Affairs had sent one, fostered, Severus Snape for a mental evaluation. The child had finished his fifth year of Hogwarts and after a violent dispute with another student and some worrying findings, his mental health was asked to be evaluated once the school year was out.
That day, Dameion took his clients as usual but found his mind not so focused on who was in the room, but instead who was not. Time ticked by and 5:30 is eventually reached and after fifteen silent minutes later, Dameion Aggzian leaned over and pulled the letter from its pouch.
Dear Therapist Aggzian,
I feel like I'm constantly on a wire. Balancing uncomfortably between the vale of living to work, and living to live. My growing up was in a lower-middle-class family who all worked high positions of small branches you see, and this family holds no warmth that a family should. At 16 years of age, my uncle doesn't know he can't even spell my name, I don't remember what my cousins look like, and my father admits to having been going years without signing a birthday card or buying me a gift. When my Father asked for proof of my claim of such transgressions, I dumped 6 years of card giving holidays on to the table. All of which, my mothers and father signature sat signed in only my mothers hand. At first, I didn't know why collected those cards, but somehow I think I always knew.
You see, my father kills animals. Openly and freely and currently. When I lived at my parents home, we had a few trees out back, and that meant we had squirrels and chipmunks and other animals of similar sorts. They would bury their winter stashes into the ground every fall and ruin my fathers garden. My father puts buckets out, I bet you'll even find them this fall, and he fills them 70% full with water, and then leaves tissue paper over the top, with a smaller layer of seeds on it. The animal would jump onto the tissue paper, fall through and eventually drown. On numerous occasions, I've watched this process and I've and heard the screams of animals dieing since a very early age. My mother ignores this habit. But, yet, I'm the one in therapy..
I think I dad beats my mom...
Here's my theory... When people loose who they are to money and possessions and suddenly how they live is more important than living... I think a part of them dies. My family... is not a family. On top of the things I've stated before, no one talks to each other except brother and sister. I mean, I don't talk to my cousins, my cousins don't talk to me. My dad doesn't talk to my mom's side. My mom has no contact with my father's. There is no anger or animosity.. they just.. have no interest in such things. I feel as though the only reason we see each other on the holidays is that it's a social norm. (We never see each other any other time, besides funerals.)
I don't agree. I think a family is a close unit, not a group of strangers. I can't stand it. It's something that drives my anger. Family means loyalty. But, my entire family besides my father has left me behind and apparently fully given up custody. My family is a Ritta Sketter believing, High blood with low blood lifestyle, Unemotional, uncaring, family.
At my Grandfathers funeral... they talked of bars and Quidditch and muggle football. The daughter of the deceased cooked everyone burgers. Everyone brought a dish. It was quite a lively event where no one talked about who died.
I do not want to go back with them.
I took away my Father's right to be called "Dad" when I was 6. I told everyone he was punished because he was a terrible father and didn't deserve the title. I was beaten that night, and every night for nearly a year which is when I relented. I still agree though. One day I was left alone at the house and I cut all his faces out of the family pictures and replaced them in the frames perfect. I was beaten for this, but I told my mom, he was nothing but a drunk, and he didn't deserve to be in our family. By my father's clear love of booze and fondness for using fists and hex's, I still think I'm correct.
My father was TERRIBLE to my grandmother before she died. He always threw the ear at me every time she contacted us. Growing up, he'd leave the house or run up the stairs and lock himself in his office if she were to try and get in touch. She only wanted her sons' attention, and he was mean to her every time. In the weeks before she died he was playing the sad son card.. He was always by her bedside and saying of how he treated her so well. No. You don't just treat someone like that, and turn around and plead I love you and make it up in a week. That's not how love works... Even I know that.
My mother, though gone and escaped, has the only heart. My mother's care for her mother is amazing. My mothers care for me is amazing as well. My mother is the only one who loved or expressed joy in my interests. Though she has emotional handicaps herself, she never leaves me needing anything.. and that's why I think he's doing something to her. Because if my mom sees emotion as I have felt for a long time, I know she sees something isn't right. She has to see it...
I think so at least.
My mother's brother is the one who can't spell my name. My mom has no emotional social skills, (ref. earlier) and always told me it was a therapists job to do the talking and give advice, not her. She always was silent because she never knew how to talk to me. My retort of, you should you go to therapy to learn to talk to me instead, was always ignored. But now she's gone to America leaving me and my father behind.
.
Trust. It's said to be the most important thing of any sort of relationship. I assume family means that as well.
There is no trust.. I mean, it was out of my head before I hit 5. At about 10, it was obvious I was messed up emotionally and mentally which is why my mom bought me my first Journal. My mom was really into the thought so she went all out to make sure I'd like the pad of paper given to me. She promised it was my secret place. That no one would ever know and "every young man needs a place for those private thoughts..."
About.. 2 months later my mom brought me into my first therapist. She left me alone in the room, and the lady turned around holding open in her hand, my journal. This lead to my first two week stay at a mental institution.
Pay attention, this book symbolizes my first "private place" and the influence of broken trust.
Resentment isn't even the word for it... Anger.. nope. I was shattered. On top of watching my emotionless father kill animals, dump punches and potions into my body, and ignore me the other 99% of the time, my parents were notorious for their jail house style room checks. And before you start thinking drugs... i will assure you now, that's not the case.
I guess you got a note today instead of a person because, I'm weird and have issues... I don't know who I am. I never got to learn. I never had a childhood. I don't have a social life. But, I do know a few things. I know I can't trust people. Mental hospitals, Psychiatrists, pharmaceuticals, dentists and therapists, teachers.. they all lie that they care. If they live by the pay check, they work by the paycheck. You can make more money off of treating cancer then curing it. Same thing. I'm sorry if that insults you.. but it's all I've ever seen.
Through my family I have learned, hurting animals is okay and completely allowed. That meant kicking cats, throwing knives at strays, drowning small animals, poisoning local bird nests and killing my Childs pet when he goes away to school, then saying "I told you feeding was your responsibility," when he returns to the mummified corpse that wasn't yet removed from the cage.
I learned that your significant other will stay and protect you, even when you're wrong and there's nothing good about that. I learned children should be ok with all of it, and not talk about anything or they get the vomit beaten out of them. I learned family means nothing and when family dies it's a time where the family gathers for burgers and booze and where we talk about sports and purchases while we drink cheap charade and toast to life. If that wasn't bad enough, I learned that all of this can happen while living in a good house, with somewhat fancy things, and a lively paycheck. It only seems to get worse the more or less you have...
My name is Severus Snape. I am 16 years old and I am safe. I have moved as far into safety as possible by having the Malfoy's foster me, and I'm slowly starting to be able to live again. I have friends. I haven't self-harmed for 4 months. No drugs or alcohol. I'm doing okay.
I am not a danger to myself. I am not a danger to others. I have no thoughts about harming myself. I do have thoughts of harming others but I promise, they deserve it if the thought finds it's way into my thoughts. Between 1 - 10 my week so far has been about a 7. I did not show up on my own free will today. I am most likely out with friends and probably quite happy, which is why I left you this instead.
I'm not sorry... But, maybe you can understand.
Signed,
Severus Snape
R&R