Cold as ice and yet as warm as a mid-summer day, I stay unbroken from pain. My heart knows the truth. My heart knows everything that I am. My heart could teach you a few things. My heart could teach things such as Love and Joy but also, my heart knows Love and Joy’s brothers, Hate and Pain. My heart’s known more about pain than any of the others. Oh so well does my heart know Pain. My heart knows Pain so well that for a long time my heart and Pain were best friends. My heart learned more from Pain and living in this world than my brain ever did at school. Me and my heart, we’re real good friends. We have each other’s backs. We look out for one another. Let me tell how all this started. Let me tell you the story of my heart then maybe you could understand my mind.
My heart was born June 2, 1995. I was named Walter McCarty “Mac” Morrow. I was born at 11:59 that night. My heart followed me about twenty seconds later and immediately met Pain. A couple seconds in this world was enough for my heart and it no longer wanted to be here but by then it was too late to turn back. My heart met Pain through the absence of a father, my father. My dear ole dad didn’t even want to say he had a son. He didn’t want me to be born and had actually asked for my mother to abort me but she refused. Not only did he not want to meet me but he didn’t want to meet my heart and learn it. My heart didn’t like felling “unaccepted” and so my heart didn’t like pain.
Throughout the first five years of my life my heart grew smarter and older just as I grew older and smarter. I had stayed with my mother and my grandmother in Kentucky and it was there that my heart met abuse. Abuse sneered at my heart and my heart smiled back and so my heart and abuse got along great. At the age of five my heart met a form of love that was different almost unreal. False love introduced herself to my heart and expected to be loved in return. My heart was smart so it learned how to “act.” It was at the age of five that my father decided that he wanted me to be his son and so I played it off as if I knew who he was supposed to be when truly I had never known the man. Slowly, I began to not trust people, especially men.
The heart is such a weird part of me. My heart is his own person with his own personality. Without my heart I would have no emotions and no personality. I would have nothing but my brain and my heart has proven to be smarter than my brain.
For time’s sake let’s skip some unimportant parts of my life:
At the age of seven my heart met true love, well at least true love for a father. It was at the age of seven that my mother married my step-dad billy. Billy showed me certain things, things such as how to be a man and how to be a father, that my mother could never teach me. Him and my mother settled down and my heart was at peace…for now.
Before billy it was hard to live with my mom. Me moved around a lot. I had lived in five cities or towns by the time I was six. She found a new boyfriend just about every month. One guy named Gene actually tried to rape her. My brother and I stabbed him with a fire poker. When we did stay somewhere for longer than two months, my mom wanted everything to be perfect. The house, the yard, the car, the dog, and me had to be just like she wanted and if we weren’t then I got beat because naturally it wqas always my fault. To this day I try to please others because I’m so afraid that I’ll do something wrong. When my brother left the house verything got worse. You see, my brother was all I had. He took up for me and made sure no one messed with me. He taught me how to fight and how to kill. Yes, he taught me how to kill. By the time I was eight years old I could shoot a gun. I could hit a Dr. Pepper can, from about 100 yards, with a hand gun. I could have won any knife fight and my fists knew exactly where to hit to kill. He taught me stealth and the art of being a ghost. For a long time I didn’t have any friends because I couldn’t keep a relationship with people who could never tell when I was coming or going. He taught me how to survive. I lived with him in a stretch of woods about 25 feet away from my house. We lived there for about two years. We built a fort out of dirt and sticks and leaves. We had food and fire every night and had nothing to complain about usually. When he left, it was just me and my Labrador, Ruby. I wouldn’t go to the house because of my mom and so I stayed in the woods for another six months. After six months, ruby got a snake bite by a Copperhead and didn’t survive. I had to go back to living with my mom.
For a long time I slept on the floor just because I was used to the hard ground outside. My step-dad did what he could to be my dad and to act like Matthew, my oldest brother. He tried to keep my mom from beating me but he had to go to work. I was actually taken out of public school because teachers were beginning to wonder where the gashes and scars and bruises came from. So, I was home-schooled. I locked myself in my room and read textbooks. At one time I was actually able to fluently speak Latin but have forgotten most of it now.
Allow me to describe one beating: it was the worst one I had gotten. February 19, 2004, I was done with my work for the day. My mother had been doing pretty bad because she hadn’t gotten the weed that mellowed her out. I was watching TV and she had come in and told me to turn it off. I replied that I was finished with my work for the day. Boom! First came the yelling. She always started by demoralizing me. I sat in silence. I had been through this too many times before. She then punched me, once in the head, then face. I took repeated hits to the face. I fell to my knees and once I was on the ground she started kicking me in my sides and stomach. I just got to my feet as quickly as I could and walked to my room. Following me was my mother with plates that she threw at my head. A couple made contact with my back but I just kept walking. I knew that as soon as I fell again she would start kicking me again. As soon as I was in my room, she slammed my head into the wall and then pushed me to the other side of my room, to the floor. She grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to my feet in front the window of my second floor bedroom. She lifted her leg and kicked me out of my bedroom. I went flying with glass shards stuck in my skin. I fell to the ground and just laid there for a moment. I then stood up and walked to the porch and just sat there. As usual she came and asked for forgiveness and as usual I gave it.
Drinking my coffee one morning with my step-dad, she(my mom) announced she was pregnant. Nine months later I had alittle brother, born November 11, 2004, named Brennen Reid Mitchell. He was mine. We took to each other almost immediately. I held him, burped him, sang to him, played with him and put him to bed every night. In a sense, I raised him. Mom was too busy for him once he stopped breast-feeding. After that, he was my responsibility, and I never complained. everyday, I took him to the fields and played with him. We played soccer and football and baseball and we fished and explored and everything a kid brother wants to do when he's little. he was my pride and joy. I got old enough to where I could protect him from most everything. Everything changed on the day that I left though. April 7, 2008: I moved to my father's house near Dallas, Texas.
Up to this point I had visited him every Christmas and summer and had built some what of a relationship with him. He had just moved in with his fiance and then married her June 27th. I took with me my dog and my clothes and left everything else behind. It started on April 2. It was the night of the NCAA national basketball championship game. The Memphis Tigers had made it and the game was close. My family was watching the game but something had happened, I still can't remeber what, and my step-dad, Billy, and my mom were fighting. She yelled at him alot and hit him a few times. He pinned her to the floor and atempted to keep the damage to him to a minimum. The cops were called. She spent three days in the county jail for Domestic-violence. The night it happened I called my dad to leave. When my mom came home I was alloed to fell her hand to my face again with abrutal slap. It was at that point that I was done. Women would no longer hurt me. I thought in my head how pathetic my mother was and the pathetic excuse of a mother she was. All her sons were drifting away from her and she still pushed us farther away.
I finished my home-schooling at my father's. I enrolled in Clarke middle school for the beginning of my 8th grade year. Everything was going decently. I got in a couple fights but nothing major. One day a kid who just happened to be the brother of my girlfriend, I thought I could call the cops on him and get him in trouble and I did. The problem was me getting taken home by a cop. Naturally my parents flipped out. It was the last straw and I was sent to Cal Farley's Boys Ranch January 5, 2009. I stayed in trouble and still do. I can say that I've improved. Before, when I first came, I said fuck the world. Now, I get along with most everyone and Love my life. I currently reside here at the ranch and improve everyday.
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