Chapter One

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My story started on September 22nd, 2000. I was the only child my parents would ever conceive. Due to this fact, my childhood was a bit lonely. My parents always provided for me, as every good parent should, but I was still left with that longing for something more. No matter what new toy I was bought or story I was read at night or new activity I was introduced to, that hole was ever present and it grew larger over time, not smaller. 

I never really had friends growing up. My parents, my father in particular, had a job that meant we had to move quite a lot so I was never really in one place long enough to make friendships that would last. As a result I spent most of my childhood isolating myself as I didn't want to set myself, or anyone else more importantly, up to be hurt because of a situation I couldn't control and circumstances I had no say in. I had moved 3 times by the time I turned 8 years old.

When I was around 10 years old, my parents began to have disputes over the tiniest things. I would go to bed every night and the soundtrack I would fall asleep to was no longer the innocent bedtime stories that they would both tell me before kissing me on my forehead and tucking me in for the night. What would start an evening long argument between them would be something as trivial as a dish not being washed. This would escalate into them raising voices and sending me to my room where I would remain for hours, not having a clue what was going on. I hated it and longed for the peaceful days of my early childhood to return. 

Eventually, it got so bad that my parents could not even co-exist enough to be in the same room as each other. My father often stormed out the night before a business trip and didn't return for up to a week or two. This led my mother to come to all sorts of conclusions in her head, none of which were ever proven true by the way. They eventually got to the point where they got so disregarding of their surroundings that debates would last deep into the night. They would scream their lungs out at each other until 2 or 3am.

After some time, a letter came in the post with an obnoxiously large red stamp on it with words, with a context I would not understand until later on, printed in a blood red ink.

"Regarding Tennancy."

In a move that I had became accustomed to over the years, we had to leave our home. This time, however, was different. We were not going as a family. That bond between us had been broken a long time ago.

My memory from that time is very fragmented and I'm guessing the reason for that is anxiety. I never knew what was going to happen or how the arguments would end or when I would be sent to my room or how long I would have to listen to the non-stop shrieking of my mother's high-pitched voice or the booming of the bass tone of my father's. Of course, the biggest debate of all was yet to come.

My father wanted me to move with him to Europe as he was set to receive a promotion in the company he worked for. He wouldn't have to move as much and had arrangements in place if he did.

My mom wanted me to stay with her but she only had a part-time job so her income was a lot less than my father's but I had the promise of a more stable life.

To make a long story short, they got divorced. They both fought tooth and nail to get custody of me. Both of them knew that joint custody was not going to be an option. It was all or nothing and, from what I've been told, it was a bitter battle. Dad had money but Mom had stability. However, in the end, it was decided that neither was fit to have custody so I was left to the state.

The only constant I had had in my life was gone. My parents separated in one of the most bitter ways possible. I didn't know what came next. I was too young to comprehend it. All I knew was that my parents were gone. I was put in what can only be described as an orphange. I didn't stay for long but I hated every moment of it. 

I moved to the city to live with my maternal grandparents for reasons I struggled to understand. At first I was told I was only going to be there for a while, that my parents would be back eventually.

My 13th birthday came and I celebrated with my grandmother, my grandfather and my stuffed animal that I had owned since I was a baby. It was the only piece of my parents I had left and I think I kept it as it helped me feel secure I guess. My grandparents were old at the time. They were easily into their seventies. They always had young minds though. They had lived in the village we were in for the previous twenty years and they wanted something new. So, again, I moved.

When I made it to my new home, I didn't expect much. I would enroll in a new school and isolate myself from everyone as I had done over the years. I would keep my head down, do my work and everything would be fine.

Although the start of my life had been one of the worst starts a child could have in this world, mentally at least, I didn't expect much to happen for the rest of middle school and not a lot really did. However, during my first year of high school, my life, as it was, changed. 

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