Icarus Zephyite D3

Icarus Zephyite
17 18
Male
District 3
odair

A family. I had a family. One that cared for me, and one that wanted me to do well in life. Mom and dad were set in their ways as they grew up, though, believing that a relationship should only be between a man and woman. For the longest time, I wondered what they meant until I was old enough to understand, yet I didn't see the world how they did. The first crush I had was on another man. It was weird, and I didn't dare bring it up to my family because mom and dad said it was wrong, so I ignored the man I kept staring at every single day. Mom and dad loved each other, so why I couldn't I find a female? I tried, and I tried, but it never worked out because I wasn't happy. It honestly felt like the weight of the entire world was sitting on top of my shoulders.

It became so bad that I started smoking and drinking on a regular basis. It made me happy when I was drunk out of my mind. Girls looked pretty then, and I tried holding a relationship with one, but the drinking was messing with me. All I wanted every single day was to drink. To pour the poison down my throat and throw myself at whatever girl came forward, yet it got old fast. The happiness wasn't true. It was a fake like everything else in the world, so I stopped trying, but every ounce of my energy fled. Getting out of bed took more effort than it should've, and I felt like the world was a hole, and I was only digging further beneath the surface.

My entire body ached. Every step I took required so much effort on my part. During the day I would stop and rest winding myself up again so I could just finish the day. It was horrible. All I wanted was to lay at home in bed and sleep the day away. I stopped eating, and I lost so much weight through it all. Mom and dad worried about me. They thought I was starving myself, and that's what I was doing, but I had no appetite. Nothing they placed before me was worth my time to eat because raising my hand to lift the fork from the table wasn't an easy job. I spent many hours in my room sulking around wishing the world was a better place because all I wanted was to find happiness. The alcohol didn't cut it anymore. In fact, I would drink so much I passed out until I finally had enough.

I came home from school like every other day. It was pretty normal, but I had something I needed to do. When I walked through the door, mom and dad were setting the table for dinner. My heart pounded rapidly behind my chest. Every muscle inside my body quivered as I sat down at a chair and stared into space for the longest time until one of them brought me back to reality by placing a hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath trying to keep myself calm because I knew they would disapprove. They wouldn't understand, but I had to do it. I had to tell them. They turned their attention to me as dad sat next to me. "Son, what's wrong?" His voice was full of concern, and I wanted him to love me, and I want them to care about me, but I only had one way of finding out if their promise held true. Only one was of knowing if my parents would love me unconditionally. "I like other men, dad. I can't help it. I've tried dating females, but I'm not happy, but when I look at another man with lustful eyes, I want to be with them." I paused for only a moment as my eyes shifted between the table and my parents.

It was no surprise that they were shocked. None at all, but I didn't expect their words to be so harsh. Dad was yelling at me. Telling me I was stupid, and that I wasn't his child because his son wouldn't even consider being in a relationship with another man. Mom shrieked at the top of her lungs before storming from the room. And it was only me and dad sitting at the table before he got up and walked away. Nobody said anything, but I could hear them whispering to each other in the other room. I could hear them talking about me, and how I was a disgrace to the entire nation, and that nobody should want me because I'm worthless, and no good, but what hurt the most was the final statement before they walked back into the room. "Out!" Dad snapped pointing towards the door. "You are no son of mine! And don't you ever come back!" I swung my bag over my shoulders and walked out of the house. Never to return.

Honesty is one trait I adore in people, and it's one I try to live by. It's best to be honest because it keeps the guilt from eating away at my conscious, but sometimes everyone lies. I lied to myself for the longest time telling myself I was happy when in all reality I was slowly dying on the inside. Turning into a robot like mom and dad wanted. One that did everything that they wanted me to do. One that threw away the happiness of everyone involved. My life was spiraling downhill, and I couldn't figure out why. Each day I grew weaker and weaker, and it felt like my brain would fry at any possible second, but some of that was because of the alcohol I ingested on a regular basis. It changed me. It turned me into a person I wasn't. One that didn't care what happened, but deep inside my voice reminded me to stay true to myself. To be honest with myself along with everyone else, and that's when I opened up.

When I opened up, my entire life felt like it was on track. I could smile for the first time and mean it. I was capable of throwing the mask away that hid my emotions every single day. Since I've become happy with myself, and accepted who I am, I've started talking to people more, and it's something I truly enjoy. People accept me now that I've accepted myself, and it feels like the world no longer presses against my shoulders. I can breathe with ease. It also helps me try not to judge others. Because I was judged for so long, I do my best to stray away from judging someone because it's wrong, and it's hurtful, and it can tear a person apart. It tore me apart for many years, and it put a shell around me. One that nobody could penetrate for the longest time, and sometimes that shell is still there, and I hide behind it, but I'm trying my best to come out from behind the walls because not everyone is like my parents.

I do have a temper, though. I can keep it under check for the longest time as I push my emotions away. I don't allow myself to feel anything until it's too late. I place a cap on top of the bottle allowing myself to go through life with a smile spread across my face so nobody asks what's wrong, but every object under pressure explodes at some point, and that's exactly what happens to me. I reach the max I can hold inside myself, and usually it takes the smallest thing to make the cap fly from the bottle, and it's this moment I feel bad for whoever pushed me beyond my limit because I say things I don't mean. I speak before thinking. I throw things like a toddler. If I could breathe fire, I would. I've punched the wall many times since I don't want to harm whoever is in front of me. Once I'm angry, it takes a lot to bring me back to my normal self. It's best for people to leave me alone and allow the time needed to calm myself back down. Usually I'll lock myself in a room far away from everyone and cry until there's no anger or emotion left inside of me. Yet the bottling emotions up starts right again.

Whenever I'm alone, and it's quiet, I tend to get into things. I sneak around a lot especially in the dark. I'm not sure why, but sometimes I like pushing my limits especially since mom and dad kicked me out of the house. Maybe it's because I'm curious and love learning about new things. If it's in the daylight, and I'm being quiet and not making in any noise, and nobody knows where I am, it's safe to assume I'm doing something I shouldn't. Whether it's drinking when I swore I would stop, or just making a mess of things, it's best for someone to come find me before chaos is brought forth because in my own eyes it's fun sneaking around being mischievous.

Height has always been on my side. It's not enough to make me look stupidly tall or anything, but it's enough to get by without having to stand on my tiptoes to reach the top shelves, and I don't have to squat to walk through door frames. What really stands out the most is my weight. It's safe to say that I'm grossly underweight despite eating what I want. I think it's where I went through the phase where I didn't eat much at all. I broke my fragile body down. My sunken cheeks, and my bony structure made it obvious. For the longest time it looked like a slab of skin was placed on top of my bones. I could take one hand and wrap it all the way around my wrist, and my fingers would overlap. I've gained a bit of weight since then, but I'm still tiny, and I hate it. I want my old figure back. One with slight muscles. Maybe one day I can achieve it.

Shaggy blonde hair sits on top my head, and it almost always looks like I've just woke up and crawled out of bed without doing anything to it. My eyebrows are bushy, and I almost have a uni brow. It's funny in a way because mom and dad never wanted me to have one. They always wanted me clean and neat, and that's how I dressed and made myself look for the longest time, but months of drinking ruined the perfect appearance. Bags sit heavily under my eyes. The whites of my eyes are stained red most the time. My eyes are light brown in color. I have a large nose, and I hate it because it makes me look like my dad. Mom always said I looked like him, but I never see it anymore since I removed them from my life. My lips are large and pink, and most of the time the corners are twisted into a fake smile because I want everyone to think I'm happy.

My clothes are usually messy and dirty. I've been told they stink, and that I should wash them. They smell of alcohol. It's been so long since I've washed them because mom and dad aren't around to make me wash them anymore. Holes eat through the legs of my jeans, and since I've lost so much weight they're baggy, and I'm always pulling them up as I walk. My shirts fall from my shoulders, and it looks like I'm wearing a dress sometimes. My shoes have holes in the toes. I look like I'm homeless. Like I have no place in the world to go. My breath stinks. I rarely speak to anyone because I'm afraid they'll run away from the horrendous smells escaping from my clothing. I'm a slob, but it's only because happiness runs away every time I get close to it. For the longest time I didn't care how I look or acted, but it's all changed now that I've been given a second chance on life.

It's all changed because a family has accepted me for who I am. This family has given me a second chance of life, and it's up to me to live it to the fullest.