Sam once told me his parents knew what he was even before he did. His mother always looked at him with such disgust. He ached for her acceptance, and she made a lifelong choice to withhold giving it to him. Which is why I nicknamed her ” The Bitch.” I openly called her this to her face, because she openly humiliated Sam to mine.
Listening to her never ending beratement of her (in her words) fairy son was difficult enough to swallow, but nothing was more excruciating than watching Sam’s longing for her acceptance. I hated her with every ounce of my being. The fine line here was that being a broken kid myself I knew the only thing worse than having a fucked up parent was having your friends look at you like the star of some after school movie special of the week.
Correction the absolute worst part of being broken was the friends who were so shocked by your homelife that they tried to rescue you. They always thought that by exposing what was going on in your life there would be some sort of happy ending. When the truth was that even the other adults knew that going for that after school special happy ending was not how things worked. The thing about being broken is that not only did the others with” broken goggles” see you, but so did every other adult with the agenda to break you.
The appeal of having some stranger to deal with was overwhelmingly more frightening than dealing with the demon you knew. Sam’s mother was a drug addict, and his father was a drunken pedofile who had started abusing his son before he had even started school. His father left when he was six years old, after a teacher filed a complaint with social services.
There was this brief moment in time when Sam believed his life would be better, but “The Bitch” was no more a fairy godmother than her son was a fairy.
There is two of us actually, G-uno and g2. We have been friends for a while, met through our own similarities in duality, openness and love of listening. Our differences as well as our similarities always border on the extreme.