When mother was still alive, she used to tell me “Ace, when you feel like your sun has disappeared and darkness is all around you, remember that stars can’t shine without darkness”.  I remember her being one of the most optimistic people ever. Her smile could light up an entire room. Her tears could rip anyone’s heart to shreds. She was my sun, moon and my stars. Everything felt right with her there, like the stars had aligned and the universe was at peace. Everything was perfect, until her broken body was found in a ditch.

My days are the same, like a soundtrack stuck on repeat. Every day, I wake up, get dressed, go to school, come home, do homework, eat, and go to sleep. Repeat. Nothing ever moves, nothing ever changes. Everything is always the same in the sleepy town of Pinewood, Colorado. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. As I make my way down the uneven path, I contemplate my life and what it has become. Every single day since her ‘death’, I’d become more isolated. Inch by inch, slowly pushing myself into that corner, putting up steel walls so people could see nothing. Turning away from every friend, pushing away every relative. I sank inside myself and became a shell of who I really was. Being who I am now meant I had no friends. All those people I turned away got tired of waiting, of caring. So they chose not to. Every family gathering or holiday was the same. I’d go down stairs, greet everyone normally, happily, and pretend like I wasn’t already drowning in my own sadness. After we ate, I’d go upstairs and lock myself in there until they all went home. Going to school was worse. Going to school meant fake smiles and forced laughs. You’d think having no friends meant I was left alone. No, I was constantly pestered with “Are you okay?” or “Will you be alright?” and I would reply, forcedly, with lines like “I’m okay” or “I’m fine”, knowing that anything would cause attention that I certainly didn’t want or need.  My Dad? Her ‘death’ hit him harder than anyone else in the entire family. She was the light of his life and he was lost without. I’ll spare you the gruesome details and just tell you that he committed suicide not long after. Leaving his 15 year old son alone in the world. I’m 17 now. Two years without the warmth of a family. Two years without love. Love was the last thing I could think about, yet it was everything I needed. Pain was my excuse for love. Pain I cause myself, to myself. I use that pain to fill the emptiness. To fill the hollow where my heart’s supposed to be. Every day I find new ways to cause myself pain. Whether it’s punching trees or punching people. Pain is my love. Pain is my saviour. I know no  one will love me the way I want them to. Because who would love a boy with scars?