The Mistake That Broke Me

Chapter Twenty Nine: He Made Me Laugh

Song: I'll be OK by Nothing More

*Song Addison sings in this chapter

*

I sat near my mother's grave as I mended the broken guitar in my hands. I glanced up at her headstone every now and then, and bitterness would creep up within me.

I'm horrible. I shouldn't be bitter still, my mother is dead. She's dead and there's no going back. I've just been having such a hard time letting my anger, hate, and bitterness towards my mom go recently.

Memories burn deep, and they hurt. They hurt me, and for that, I want justice. But who am I to want justice after someone's child is in the ground because of me?

Often times, it feels like I'm drowning. So much guilt, shame, and anger I have bottled up over the years that it takes very little to push me over the edge. My emotions are so overwhelming, and paired with the flashbacks from my past, it's like a storm.

A storm that threatens to blow me over.

One can only deal with so much crap until eventually, they break down. They break down and lose themselves to the insanity life throws at them.

I just feel heavy with the weights that have been placed upon my back over the years. It's overwhelming, and it's hard to sleep at night with this much pain in my chest. I wish I could be free of all my pain and hardships.

But there's nobody that will be willing to listen to my cries and hear my pain. There's nobody I can share my problems with and release my bottled up emotions to.

Then again, would I really want to tell people?

My past is dark. Would I really want to share that with people?

I don't know.....I just don't know.

I guess for now, I'll just have to hang on and make the best of it. It won't be easy, but by now, I'm used to life not being easy. What's one more little problem going to do to me?

I'm fine. I'm fine! I think to myself as I stand up and dust myself off. My guitar is almost fixed, and though it looks wounded and scarred, I'm happy with the way it is turning out. It's still beautiful, even with the scars it holds.

I sling the guitar over my shoulder, whistling a tune as I walk out of the graveyard. I was excited to show Dagger the progress I've made on my guitar, and I think he'll be pleased with it, too.

As I'm exiting the graveyard, I frown when I see little teddy bears and blue balloons wrapped around a headstone. The grave is decked out in children's toys and flowers, and my heart aches when I think of a child that has lost their life way too young.

I read the engraved letters. Charlie Maxwell.

"Charlie Maxwell." I whisper aloud, the name rolling off my tongue in familiar waves.

I turn away abruptly, my clenched fists quaking at my sides when I realize who this little boy is. Who this little child is. And what exactly I have done.

Deep breaths, you didn't mean to. It was an accident. You couldn't have known you were going to kill someone in the process. R-remember what they taught you at the asylum, just breathe and all your nightmares will d-disappear.

Air fills my lungs and my body shakes when I remember today is the fifth year anniversary of this little boy's death. Today was the exact date five years ago that this child took his last breath, and it was all because of me.

Damn it, don't lose yourself. Not here. Not now.....

But my walls of steel that have been built up over the years are crumbling down. The mental band-aids that the asylum had treated me with are peeling away, revealing scarred, eternal wounds that I have sustained.