domenica 6 marzo 2011

Sunday Fairy Tale.

Once Upon a time, a young boy with a sweet disposition and rosey cheeks named Andrea thought the world was in his palms.

He didnt have a quiet childhood. Didnt think his parents were bad or to balme for anything cause most parents are people who happened to create another human being and cannot handle what that ends up meaning. His parents were not ready for him. They didnt love each other, or if they did, anything between them had disappeared in a haze of pettiness, betrayal, booze and pain. His father was a man wqho got bullied a lot whn he was a kid and who was on a quest of showing he was strong by bullying others. His mother had dreams and a loving family, but they died all at different stages of her life, so she married a man who promised her security. It was a lie. He hit her, insulted her, corroded her daily with sarcasm and fear, so she started drinking and being mean. And then they had a kid.

They raised him, somehow but they were broken and didnt know how to love this little thing who forced the together, so they kinda resented him and he got that. They never were a family.

The kid grew up thinking that it was normal to be screamed at and called "faggot" by your dad. That it was normal to clean up piss and blood from the floor on christmas eve, and then pull up your mom, heavy and passed out, to put her in bed while she bglamed you for everything in her life.

The kid tried to build himself a life, spine, a skeleton. He fell in love with the wrong person, like most of his kind do. He thought he could win. But those things never work. So he slipped.

He loved to quiet his panicky head with alcohol, l.ike his mother did. Got drunk until he passed out. Crashed into places. Hurt himself, a lot. Somnehow he thought he was a rockstar, all of that excess made him feel powerful and high. Stronger, loved and aprreciatted. He didnt know that his weirdest companion was creeping inside his head.

Slowly his mind unraveled. At times he felt on top of a mountain, acting like Jagger or Steven Tyler in pubs, Spendin his money on alcohol, drugs and vintage clothes. changing the color of his hair, wearing make up, hanging with weird people that enabled his vices but always were there for him. He liked to exhaust himself, to sleep around, to have sex with weird people, to get himself to the bottom. But he was going loose.

At times that energy he had got too high. He wanted too much, he was too angry, too happy, too over the top. Screaming at people, starting fights, getting beaten. At times he could barely get out of bed and just laid there without eating, wanting to sleep his life aways. And everyuthing seemed like it was slipping away. He abandoned faith ages ago, but he grasped it back cause it made the noises less loud. He thought that god was watching him and he was punshing for his mistakes. That if he started praying regularly, like a compulsive ritual, with regular numbers of prayers, things would have changed. If he did only one mistake in the prayers, eve a mall one, god would have punished him with more pain. He started atoning for his sin by denying himself food, sleep, sex, anything. Gave away his stuff cause it would please the lord.

And he heard voices, noises, saw lights and stuff that amde the world scary. Or he just didnt hear anything and cried all day and night hoping to die. He pushed away everyone and became a wreck. Shutting the world out.

The pills helped him. They made him feel quiet. Mixed with alcohol they almost gave him some sort of peace. but his body got used to that quick. SO like a good junkie he increased the dosage. Now every part of the day was just a grind to get to the moment when he swallowed those tiny bits of serenity. Everyday one more. And he didnt care to die. It felt too0 good and if they took him, better.

He almost killed himself. Twice.

One night he went to a party and got way too drunk and angry again. Tried to start a fight, ran away from the place crying after attacking his best friend. Crasshed his car and tried to run away headbutting people. The cops took him away and he didnt feel anything. He was actually calm and sober. They took away his licence and life.

He had to sober up and go to therapy. His doctor, a vampire looking man that tought he could handle the world's troubles with a bunch of prescriptions, filled him up with good words and poisons.

"Let us help you be a better person"

"The soul gets sick too and it can be cured"

The meds turned off everything. From his fear to his libido. He couldnt think, or create. He just woke up, ate, did mechyanical stuff and went to sleep without dreaming. everything was slow, muted, grey and covered in glue. He used to be a writer and a smart guy but now the medicines killed this part of him. He became overweight, lost hair. From the frail, neurotic thing he was, he became a slob of indifference and lack of feelings.

New friends and loves started to pop out. And slowly he decided to rebuild himself. It was tough at first but it worked. He was emabarssed about his past. He oculdnt face it. So he decidecd to restart. Used the intenet for that and it worked. Slowly he was re-buiolding himself. Meeting sweet people that accepted him and loved him no matter what. And that helped his daily life too. he got new jobs, started new projects. He fell in love again. And again. And again....

Now hes stronger. He fihts every day witha that thing in his head, which hasnt gone away. He still has to use the mneds some times or things could be worse. But he has hopes, and feelings and feels like hge can handle iut. And he has people, that hold his hand and walk him thorugh everything, helping him to survive. He is.... happy.

So maybe he'll, get the world after all. Who knows, he might even save the princess. Right Rhi?

Thanks. To everyone,

The little boy

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