I developed a drug addiction in my teens.

Told me apart for a long time, but it was nothing compared to the events that sparked it.

I know.

See, we've all struggled.

Get over it.

That's what my dad would say.

It's not a bitch.

My mom would probably feign empathy and then fuck it up by trying a little too hard, and

then she'd drink herself to sleep.

This isn't a story about my dad or my mom though.

It doesn't really even destroy my addictions.

This is a story about a monster.

The scars they left upon my life.

It's a story about the end of my world.

I'm going to make a story about the end of yours too.

It all began when I was eight.

Third grade for me was not a pleasant time.

Sure, they're a bright spot in the year, and they're always are.

Although I read third grade as a one out of ten.

That's probably being generous.

You might have summarized my mother and father were not exactly great role models of my

life.

...