I don't know what to think of all this. Any thoughts?

[This is kinda long, so if you actually read it all, thankyou, I appreciate it. This is real. All of it. And it's all the truth. Tell me what you think. Would you have the same questions as me? Would you have the same answers? Well, here it is].

I don’t remember where it all started. I just remember pieces - fragments of a story - like a puzzle that must be put together. But I know I’m definitely missing pieces. And as I grow older, that becomes more apparent to me, as I find out things about my past that I had no idea about. Can I blame my parents? No, that doesn’t matter. All that matters now is the way I’m feeling - the way I have always felt - and my desire to change that feeling. Sometimes, I wish, that I could just bring about some sort of special and enormously strong power to overcome all of my shortcomings. But I know it’s not that easy.

To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I guess I’ve been penting up all my emotions until now. I haven’t been able to do anything - going out with friends, going after my dreams, even uni work. I was willing to lose marks - no - it’s more accurate to say that I no longer cared whether I lost marks. And why? It’s not like I’m particularly sad, or angry, or anything like that. I don’t know what word to use to describe the emotion I’m feeling now. Is it sadness? Anger? Hate? Guilt? No, it’s definitely not guilt. I don’t even know the purpose of this whole thing, but maybe it’s me just letting go, just writing down everything. Maybe the emotion that’s stopping me now is a mix of emotions - a combination of all those negative emotions I’ve felt over the past. It sounds worse than it is. I don’t feel bad at all. I more - I more just feel like it doesn’t matter. Like none of it matters. But I know it does. It’s like, I can feel the truth - everything that has happened - it’s like I’m not acting because I’m too scared of the outcome. But I can’t take that anymore. I can’t take being weak. Being that kid. I always think I’m getting stronger, but in reality, I never am. What is true strength though? Another thing - the Greeks would say that the emotions of men were Gods, because they controlled men. But what if they got control over their emotions? Maybe this is some subconscious attempt by me to gain some control over my emotions. I don’t know. All I know is I don’t have any direction right now, and I won’t get anything done if I don’t write. It’s funny - writing was my saviour when I was young. Writing, and anime. They both saved the young me, in a sense. (Even though I still am young). And it’s still the same - whenever I have problems, I can find the solution through my writing, whether it’s self reflection, or a story, or a poem - whatever - I can find the solution. I guess that’s what this thing really is - an attempt to find a solution to my current problem. But first, I have to identify my current problem. It’s a complex problem, one that can’t be identified by a single source, as some problems are. Instead, my “problem” is a combination of various situations, events, and conditions that have arisen within the last 15 years of my life. That’s right - 15 - because I remember nothing before I was three years old, and I’m pretty sure I was happy then anyways. Let’s begin, and delve into my world - my past.

I remember some things from before when I was three years old. Just little things - like me crying in my pram and my dog barking at my mum in the kitchen to come get me. Actually, that might’ve been a little after I was three. Oh well. You get the point.

I had this toy figure - he was so strong, I loved him (not in that way, haha). He had big muscles, and army pants, and a serious looking face, and yet he was small enough for me to hold in my hands, as if this conceptual image of a strong person - that is, potentiality - could be understood in the minds of human beings, even at a young age. That’s why I loved him - because he represented potential - the potential me. I don’t think I understood that back then. I don’t even know if that’s really why I liked him. But looking back, it seems that way. I was in my bed that night, too scared to sleep. I remember it too well. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t sleep. I was scared. I don’t remember what I was scared of, or if I just couldn’t fall asleep. Regardless, I was awake at later hours than I should have been, lying down in my car shaped child-like bed while hugging my toy figure. And that’s when I heard it. Mum coming down the corridor, the opening of a door, and some chatter. At that time, I was too scared to get up and tell mum I couldn’t sleep - no, scared isn’t the right word - it’s more like, some unknown force was preventing me from standing up, if that makes any sense. I don’t even think that describes it well. It’s not like something externally stopped me. In that situation, knowing me and my personality, I definitely should have gotten out of bed and stopped that door from closing. But i didn’t. Why? I still don’t know the answer to that question, and I don’t think I ever will.

Rewind about five seconds. There were two people there. I think. It’s strange, because that’s not what I’ve been told. The door opened, and then there were two people. Then, it closed, and there was only one remaining. It sounds like a horror story now, or like something went terrible wrong. It didn’t. At least, looking at it objectively, I can’t say it did. Maybe fate was simply working its wheel. Maybe me getting up out of my bed when I heard those words wouldn’t have changed anything. Maybe.

I can’t remember what came first. The opening of the door, or the chatter. Were there two people already in the house, or was there one, who opened the door for the second, and then spoke? I’m not sure. Not that it matters too much. I think anyways.

“Are you really going to leave?” Or something along the lines of those words. I’m pretty sure that was my mother.

I don’t think there was a response. There might have been an apology. But i don’t think so. I don’t remember too clearly. All I know for sure is that those words were spoken, and then, someone left, in boots. It was raining that night, I’m pretty sure - and so, I could hear his boots clanging in the puddles as he walked away outside. It was as if my hearing was enhanced ten fold. I don’t know. Maybe my mind filled in certain parts of the story that I don’t remember because I was so young. Who knows… But, that was the last memory I have before my parents broke up.

I’m not too sure whether they broke up after that, or before. I don’t even know if that man at the door was my father. It was definitely a man - I could feel it - somehow. But I don’t trust any of the stories I’m told from my parents. But I’ll get to that later. Right now - it’s important to fill in the details. To remember my past.

Everything from this point happened in an unorderly fashion - or at least, it’s organised in that way within my head. I don’t know when certain things happened - good and bad - whether they happened prior to or post to certain events in my life. Well, I guess I’ll start describing the moments that first come to my mind. The good, and the bad. Everything I remember.

I remember doing something with my mum (don’t be thinking like that, c’mon, you idiot, haha). I don’t remember what it was. Maybe we were playing cards, or maybe we weren’t doing anything - no - we definitely were. If I remember correctly, she was having a talk with me. About my father. He would prove to come up far more often than he needed to within my life. That’s worded wrongly. He would prove to come up in ways I didn’t approve of far more often than he needed to within my life. That’s better. I’ll feel guilty if I stick with the first statement. Partly because, my father isn’t such a bad guy. At least, I think so - but I’m doubting that now. And the same goes with my mother. For the most part, anyway.

I better get back to topic. I need to write about the latter parts as soon as possible. How long will I be up tonight writing this out? It’ll take forever, but I can’t keep my hands away from the keyboard - I can’t stop typing.

My mum started talking to me. I can’t remember what she said - I can’t remember. It was probably something like “Your dad isn’t here anymore.” Forget things being in an unorderly manner from the point of that night onwards - the quality of my memories can be called into question as well. I don’t remember important things. Like what exactly my mother said to me, or did, that made me repeatedly punch her in the chest and say “I hate you.” I was young at the time, probably 5, so my “punches” were more like hard taps on her body. I don’t remember what it was she said to make me get that angry, and to make me cry like that. But, I do remember the feeling I got from her. I am a very empathetic person, in the sense that I can “know” another’s presence simply by “feeling” them out. It’s probably something everyone can do - I’ve never talked to other people about it. Back to the story - the feeling that I got from my mum. It was a feeling of regret. Maybe a little guilt. But mostly, regret. It’s strange, because according to the stories, my father left her. Why would she regret an action that she couldn’t control? Unless she could? I don’t know. But that’s what she was feeling at the time, I’m sure of it. As I started to hit her, she remained a motionless doll, letting me hit her chest - it was in these moments that I got the feeling of regret from her. As I began to cry, the feeling from her changed, and so did her actions. (As a side note, something interesting is whether actions cause emotion changes or emotions cause action changes. I believe in the latter). She became sad, and more guilty - she felt sorry for me as well, and sorry for her actions, not that this makes any sense, because she didn’t have any actions to be sorry for, as far as I knew. She hugged me, and said “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Then, getting out of the hug, she held my shoulders tightly as I cried and spoke to me enthusiastically, “But we can do this! We can do this together!” It was times like these that make me believe that regardless of what my mother has done, she does love me.

The next story is a strange one. I hear stories from my parents all the time about how much their ex-partner (each other) were absolute crazy aggressive arseholes. The question is, who really was that way? In order to understand my point of view of the story which I am about to tell, you must listen to these small accounts from my parents, and step parents, in order to understand my perspective of the events that I will speak of. This, will be absolutely everything. I won’t leave anything out.

My father and step-mother sure have a lot to say. So let’s start with them. My father accounts that my mum and himself didn’t get along, and that he met his now wife after he left my mum. There is no denial there - he says he left my mum - however, he has many excuses as to why - he says it couldn’t be helped. For one, they didn’t get along, and for the other, my mother apparently was crazy and unreasonable. I can see that. It makes sense. But let’s hear some of these stories. My father says that after they broke up, my mother wouldn’t let him see me. He says that for weeks he wasn’t able to me. It might’ve been months - i can’t remember. I guess it’s the action she took that matters in this recount of his, after all. He then says that he and my mother had to spend loads of cash on court because my mother was too much of a bitch and wouldn’t let me go to him. I’m not sure whether this aspect of my mother arose because of her hate of my father and her need to see him suffer, or her genuine care for me. Either way, this action of her not letting me see my father and her constant badmouthing of him instilled a deep fear within me every time I would go over to his house. That was a part of it anyway, but I’ll get to that later. Strictly, these will be recounts of my father and stepmother's stories. The next one is a story which takes place before they break up, and involves my mother being manipulated by her father, my grandfather, and believing him that my father was cheating on her. So, she decided to smash up his car with a baseball bat - or someone else’s? The details aren’t too important here. She did it because she was mad with dad. Simple as that. The question remains though, was he really cheating on her? He says he wasn’t. Let’s move on to my mother’s stories a little while.

My mother says she always let me see my dad. She also said that she broke up with him because he cheated on her, with my step mother. She also says that my father tried to take me from her, which is why she went to court. Looking at this objectively, it seems my mum felt as if she was going to take everything away from her, and went into defense mode (Yugioh is here lol). That makes sense to me, but i don’t really know. The story of the car was exactly the same from my mother, except she said she did it because he was cheating. She is embarrassed that she did it, and says she acted out of anger, however, she knew for sure that he was cheating on her. Well, after this, my step-mother put out an AVO on my mother. Seems strange, doesn’t it? Have you noticed? There are no stories from either side about my mother speaking or knowing my step-mother - if anyone wanted to put an AVO out for the car smashing, it would have to be my dad. Therefore, why was the AVO put out by my step-mother? It seems suspicious to me. The stories just don’t match up. Am I just being too sceptical, if that’s the right word? Well, regardless, that is enough for their recounts, for now anyway. Let’s move onto the story I wanted to speak of previously. One from my perspective.

I remember my uncle coming over to sleep with my mum and me (No not like that again, geez you have a dirty mind, haha). I was excited, my uncle was so cool in my eyes. It was a sleepover, yay. However, it was strange that he was coming over. He never came over. And now he was sleeping over? Well, I decided to ask my mum why that was, because even as a child, I didn’t understand why he would suddenly come over to sleep over. I can’t remember my mum’s answer.

That night, I remember being restless. I remember my mum seeming anxious, or more accurately, scared. The feeling I got this time, was that she wanted to take care of me, but was scared that she wasn’t strong enough. That’s why my uncle was there. Even as a kid, I could tell this much, at least. My uncle was taking care of us. That’s what I understood back then. And because of that, my mum’s recount of this event seems suspicious. My mother told me that on this night, she was threatened by dad that the police would come, or something along those lines, and ---wait, I just remembered something.

I don’t remember when this happened, but I know it happened before the night stated above. I was in mum’s bed, and we heard noises. She was scared. I was scared. There was somebody outside the house. She told me to be quiet. The feeling I got from her was one of complete and utter fear. She was truly afraid. So, who was this person/people, you ask? Good question. She recounts this story nowadays as the police coming to the house because my father was trying to get custody of me. Makes sense, but why was she that scared? Why did she call my uncle to come over to take care of us? It would have been more stupid on her side to fight with the police. It just doesn’t make sense for it to have been them.

Now, back to that night with my uncle (Once again, - you know what, I’m gonna stop these jokes). I remember now what my mum had said to me when I asked why my uncle was over - “to protect us from the bad police.” Or something like that. I’m suspicious about this. Am I rightly suspicious? Or am I just being stupid? ****…

There’s so many other stories. I have lots of good stories as well. I guess I should move onto the stories involving my cousins. I have two cousins - a girl and a guy, both around the same age as me - so we would always hang out. The guy was younger than his sister. Anyway, she would always call him stupid, and put him down, and I’m sure his parents did too. He would always get yelled at. This forced him to develop a deep hate inside of himself - he wanted to be something greater than himself - just like me - but for different reasons - no, maybe it was for the same reasons - to run away from who we were, hoping that we could become people who could overcome these situations in our lives. And this brought us to work together - or so I thought.

I had so many great times with my cousins. Spy kids, hiding my dad’s keys so he could have a skitz attack, playing in the what seemed like an enormous playground at Fox Studios, playing soccer and video games at Christmas time, fighting my older second cousins with my guy cousin, holidays with my cousins. Haha, we got into so much trouble, it was great - it was all good trouble though, just fun and games - until there was that day where we both realised we wanted to aim for the same thing. But it wasn’t really aiming for the same thing, was it? I could talk about all the happy times, but that isn’t what this story is about. This is the story that I’ve been dying to tell for such a long time. So, let’s get to it.

I remember the day perfectly. Sitting outside with my cousin, talking about many normal things. Oh - this was after I hadn’t seem him for two years. Two years, you ask why? Because I was too scared to go to my dads for some time, and would always cry because of it. It resulted in various appointments with psychologists and me thinking there was something wrong with me. Well, to be quick, since this isn’t an important part of the story, there were times when my dad and others would try and force me to go to his house by pulling me into the car. What idiots. As if that would help. It would have been much more effective for them to say “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. When you feel good coming over, let me know ” Or maybe that wouldn’t be effective, maybe it’s just what I wanted them to say. Well, the main reason I was scared was because of the fear instilled in me by my mum about going to my dads - her acting as if he were a bad person really impacted me and my life. On top of that, my much loved dog, who was like my best friend in a time when I seemed to be alone, had died while I was at my dad’s house. That didn’t help the situation at all. All these factors only made it worse, and led me to not want to go over for at least one straight year. As a result, I hadn’t seen my cousin for almost two years, which was crazy, considering we’d spend every second weekend with each other previously.

It was in this time that we caught up - we spoke about loads of different things - and now when I think back on it, I’m surprised I never noticed. He was more affected by all the negativity his family was putting on him than he ever was in the past. Seeing everyone be so nice to me and praise me for my good grades when he wasn’t doing too well in school probably upset him. He probably thought, “He’s practically rejected you for two years, and this is how you treat him? Do you even care about me?” That’s probably how he felt, but in reality, he was, at that time, more a part of that family than I could have ever hoped to be. And that’s because he was there and I wasn’t. The reason they were so nice to me - was probably because - they were trying to be nice to me so I wouldn’t want to leave. Not that they’d be rude to me, but I mean, thinking back on it, they probably over praised me and were overnice. It definitely turned out for the worst.

My cousin and I started talking, as I was saying previously, and we both began to speak about heroes - in particular, Arrow, and Batman. He said he wanted to be like them. He wanted to change the world. I said I wanted to change the world as well. His reason, looking back, was because he wanted to become a person who could change his world. My reason, was because I felt empty, and thought that maybe I should fulfill the purpose of life, which was, as I thought at the time, to make a scar on the world. I easily get fixated when I get something in my mind, and I don’t stop till I get to my goal. Well, I hope that’s true anyway .

I still remember the exact words which I spoke to him. He had said, “I wish I could just be like Batman. I wish I could go out there, and change the world.” I said the words that would screw everything up for me in short time, “Then why don’t you?” There was a moment of silence, “Why don’t we do it? Become vigilante.” He replied with a “Will you do it?”

I said, “Yeah, let’s do it. I’m serious.” He said “Ok.” After about five seconds, he started laughing. I said, “I wasn’t joking.” He said, “I was testing you to see if you were actually serious.” I was astonished, “That’s so smart! I wouldn’t have ever thought of that!” At the time, I was telling the truth - I thought he was so smart, despite not getting good grades - I thought he was cool. But looking back, I can see how that statement about his intelligence could have hurt him - it could have definitely been seen as sarcasm. I was such an idiot. I still am - so blinded to how people feel sometimes. Like when I forgot to ring my step mother for her birthday, and she got real mad and sad. I didn’t realise that just because I wouldn’t get sad in that situation, she wouldn’t, and i completely forgot. A lot of the problems I’ve had in the past could have been prevented by simply being a little more aware, I think. Anyway, back to the story.

We decided to call this vigilante thing the “M”, standing for Mission. The goal was to go out there, and get “bad” people caught by the police, in an attempt to change the world. My idea was that after time, we would become a symbol for justice - pretty radical, hey? His idea was more centred around being batman. This makes sense, since his goal was to become a different person and mine was to leave a mark on the world.

Whenever we planned to go out, he would make some excuse for us not to go. He’d say, “We can’t just go out, we need to train”, or “Now’s not a good time. I wanna find out the secrets of our family.” That’s something I’ll talk about pretty soon. I’m a pretty trusting person, so I trusted him with my life pretty quickly. I’m not sure whether he felt the same - in fact, looking back, he probably planned what was about to happen after he decided I wasn’t any good to bring on these “missions.” I was dead serious about this M though. I can be pretty crazy sometimes, and this was one of those times. I made a mask and gloves and everything for a costume. My mum would have seen them - which is really embarrassing - I wonder what she would have thought (I hope she didn’t think I was wanking or something with that stuff, that would totally be weird. Oh well). One day, my cousin called me (we called every day, talking about the M, and our family, the latter of which he seemed to be particularly interested in, but this call was important). He said, “I’ve got a plan to find out about all our families secrets, and then we can do the M.” I said, “Ok, what is it.” The following is the approximate conservation of the both of us. L is me and D is him.

D: We pretend that we’ve had a really big fight, so the adults will think we hate each other. Then we can find everything out. When you talk to your dad, tell him you hate me and think I’m an idiot. I’ll tell my parents you said some bad stuff to make it seem real.

L: What bad stuff?

D: (I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it was along the lines of me telling my dad he is an idiot, and him telling his dad something about my mum or something or rather. It’s weird that I can’t remember, but I pretty much know now because of what happens after).

L: No, don’t say stuff that bad.

D: It won’t work otherwise.

L: No I don’t want you to say stuff like that.

D: Alright I’ll just say this - (Again can’t remember).

L: Alright.

D: Can you do this for me?

L: Yes.

D: Alright, good.

That was the conversation. The next time my dad called me everything was fine and normal, until I followed my cousins plan and said “He’s such an idiot!” My dad got angry and told me I can’t go saying the things I’ve been saying, and that it was very very wrong. I was immediately defensive, “Wait what things did I say?” “You know what you said, don’t be stupid. Now listen, you can’t go saying things like that, do you understand?” “Ok I understand but can you tell me what things I said I didn’t say anything.” “Don’t be stupid.” “Dad, just tell me what I said, alright.”

The conversation pretty much continued like that, until my dad slowly started telling me. Apparently, I said that my cousins fathers father, who is dead, is a bad person (I apparently said more than that, but I never found out what exactly - nobody told me, I just know what they think I said was bad things about this person). Also, the reason I said these things was apparently because my mum had been telling me these bad things. I hope whatever it was they think I said wasn’t that bad. I kinda don’t wanna find out, but I do. Well I don’t care that much now (Jokes I care a damn hell of a lot).

So, I called my cousin. I questioned him, “Why did you tell them i said that?! You said you wouldn’t say bad stuff!” “I didn’t tell them that. All I said was stuff like you were calling me names and your mum said bad stuff about me.” The conversation went on like that. He believed that someone else in the family was saying that stuff about what I had said. That’s ridiculous. How could someone else have said something about what I said to my cousin and believe it? AHHHHH!

Well, we stopped talking, and have slowly started again - only when we see each other at Christmas and stuff like that. It went exactly as he said - they would think we were fighting and then would start to slowly think we were becoming friendly with each other again. I have a few theories as to what happened, but first, let’s look at something that happened about a year after these events (I think it was a year?).

My cousin plays soccer. He got tackled from behind, and injured his ACL. He can’t play any sports ever again. He can walk pretty fine though, as far as I can see anyway. As for how long he can walk, and the speed, and his capabilities, I don’t know. Now, something always seemed off about this. I’ll get back to this as I’m telling my theories.

Theory 1: My cousin wanted to get me out of the picture because I was getting praised more than he was despite me not being around for so long, and devised the whole plan from the start, or decided to do it during the M after he had decided I wasn’t good enough for the M.

Theory 2: My cousin wanted to honestly find the “secrets” of our family and had a plan in mind that he couldn’t completely tell me about, but someone screwed him over and added stuff to what he had said somehow, making me beyond angry with him so that I would stop talking to him. After this, he decided I couldn’t do the M with him, so did it himself, injuring himself, and then worsening that injury through soccer, resulting in his ACL injury. This last part of the theory might be in theory 1 as well. Maybe the ACL was just from soccer - maybe it wasn’t just soccer. Maybe his parents knew how it really happened. Maybe only his sister does. Maybe no one does.

Well, that’s about it. He can’t do the M now. I know he can’t. He doesn’t believe in himself enough to do anything like that right now anyway. I can see it. Was his plan really just to make me look bad? I don’t understand. I still want to know. I have always wanted to know. I went for a while, hating him, but after some time, I came to terms with it all, and got over it, in a sense. I haven’t forgiven him, because he’s never apologised - and he pretends he doesn’t know what the M is now. It’s annoying. But I wish I can find out some time. I wish he would tell me. Did he ever find out the secrets about our family? For example…

That night when I was awake and my mum stood at the door as someone left - the times when she was scared of the “police” and had my uncle come over...I don’t think the person who was at my door that night was my dad. I don’t think the people scaring her was the police. I think, that there was a third man involved. Why do I say this?

I can see ghosts. I know, random. But I can. I used to have spiritual powers when I was little. I’d see **** that would scare the crap outta me. It stopped for the majority of my young life, and started again when I was 18. I saw some scary things that I won’t get into right now. But I recently have found someone who will train me in these powers that I have, and ever since, I’ve been figuring out so much more. Sometimes, I can read people’s thoughts. Sometimes, I know who is out the front of my house. Sometimes, I just know things without being able to explain how I know them.

Now, I’ve recently, as I mentioned at the start, have not been able to do anything. I have a uni assignment - a big one - due in a day - and I haven’t started. It’s gonna be tough . All these memories of my past started coming back to me when I decided I’d actually start on my assignment. It didn’t happen for no reason though. I called my step mother for Mother’s day today. My dad asked if I had hit a pole with my car. I said yeah, but when I asked how he knew, he joked and said “he knows everything I do.” I was like hahahah ok. But when I asked again, he avoided the question and seemed suspicious about it. I don’t know why, it was probably nothing - but, this started bringing back memories of my past. Pretty much all the memories I’ve spoken about above. And I started noticing things in these memories which I hadn’t noticed before. Like somehow, I know that the man who left our home that night was wearing black boots, and I know, that it wasn’t my dad. Because of that, and because of a feeling, which is less reliable than “knowing”, I believe that the police who came to our house and scared mum wasn’t police - maybe it was that man. Maybe it was someone after that man. But that’s the kind of feeling I get. Because of this, I’m questioning everything. I remember my cousin telling me that he wanted to find out the ‘secrets’ of our family. Is this a part of the secrets? Is there really more than meets the eyes?

I need to find out...And so, my mission begins. (Side mission, technically No I’m not talking about the M, I’m talking about business, yay #stopsayingyay).