I was in a good relationship with my mom at the age of 11. Together we used to see movies, lights, and shows. As I grew older, she worked harder. We practically became 2 broken cookies drifting away in milk. We now have other priorities. I don't know what it was that broke us apart but my guess would be her relationship with my dad. Things seemed to get worse after I got into an argument with her over going through my room without saying anything. From that point on, as I grew older her attitude seemed to grow stronger. From my point of view, she began to grow more careless of me with every passing minute. 

Every year we had a tradition where we would go to Flagstaff in January. The tradition eventually stopped when I got older. I always heard my parents arguing over petty stuff at night. It was always at night, around 10:30. From what I remember it all started in one of my old houses, which was actually a trailer. All the arguments came from or started at the trailer, at least from what I remember. We moved out from the trailer and into a house, which is the house we have lived in the longest, surprisingly.

Later on, they started having long conversations. It seemed as if they made things work. I went through a stage in life where I despised my dad. I didn't have a specific reason from what I remember but I might have had one. I did everything to not get in his way or see him. He wasn't the best dad but you knew he was trying. It was regretful. Maybe he could've died that week, month, or year and I would have blamed it on myself.

Around the age of 12 to 13, I put myself through self-discipline. I felt as if I was soft and my endurance wasn't good enough and neither was my outlook on life. I took cold baths, focused on a different change in attitude, and got rid of things in my life that I didn’t think were worthy to stand out. To be honest, not soon after these moments, I lost weight, wasn't eating nor talking as often, and wasn't laughing at or making jokes. I was simply a different person. I wasn't proud of it but I thought it was better than the person I used to be. I was trying more to fit in than I was to make myself more likable. I played sports even though I never cared about them. I can still care less.

I’m not familiar with this type of storytelling. I have ideas and this, out of many, is one of them. The thing I truly think that made me into the person I am today is childhood “trauma.” Now, I look back and reflect on it and I heavily regret changing myself to fit in. I would just try, desperately. I feel like what happened to me when I was young was just a boost for me when I got older. This is where my story ends. It's a simple reminder to not force myself into things that I don't enjoy as it won’t help me live my life to “the fullest.'' I’m thankful for a better relationship with my parents. I feel comfortable with opening up to them and making things right, I let go of my anger and forget about the bad things in the past. That’s probably why I let them wither away - the memories. I don't hold the anger, sadness, and tragedy against me or others. It has ended, like every tragedy should. End communication.

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