what i remember

A true story by Andreo Deleone.

 I’ve never really written anything about MY life, but my psychiatrist recommended that I do. So let’s see how I go.

 One of my earliest memories as a child is of the night my father died, I don’t remember much but it scared me. I was about 5, and I was sleeping in my room. I must have heard something loud because I woke up with a jolt; I later heard some yelling coming from the backyard. I ran to yard to see what was going on, and there he was. On the floor and bleeding to death. I called my mum and she called the ambulance.

Later that night my dad died.
Being a child I believed he died to protect us from the ‘bad man’, this was far from the truth, it's only now that I know... my father was an addict and he owed alot of people alot of money... I remember the funeral, it was short, and it was cheap. He was buried in a field on the outskirts of the city, with a few other bodies. His grave was a simple mound of dirt, marked with a cross but we couldn’t afford anything better.
After the funeral I started to notice things about my mum. She was almost always crying, she was angry, and she seemed to be emotional than usual. It wasn’t until we started learning about drugs at school, that I knew what she was. She was what the teacher called a ‘drug addict’ I didn’t know what I should have done. I told my best friend Catalina,and she told me to tell an adult. The teachers had always told the class that if something was wrong, we should talk to her. So I did. And before I knew it, I was taken away from my mother.

I was only 6.  I was told that she was bad, that she couldn’t take care of me, and that she needed help because she was ‘sick’. I was taken away from my home, away from my friends. I didn't even get the chance to say good bye. I was then made to live with my grandparents, this was the first time I had ever met them.
They didn’t welcome me with open arms, actually they welcomed me with a
‘So your our grandson? Well this is ONLY until we can find somewhere else to dump you, so get too comfortable’
I was given a small room at the end of the hall; it had a bed and some old toys.  During the next few years, I wasn’t treated as a child deserves.  I was beaten almost everyday by my grandpa, and I never did anything about it. I would go to bed almost every night covered in bruises, and crying because I was ‘worthless’.
 I didn’t tell anyone because the last time I talked to someone things got worse, so I stayed quiet. It was when I was about 12 that my uncle moved nearby.
He had to live with us until his house was completely finished. While he was staying with us, my grandpa beat me in front of him. And he defended me.  He stepped between us, and told my grandpa what he was doing was wrong.
Then he took me by the hand, and we went to my room. He asked me to take my shirt off. I obeyed.  He stood there in shock as he saw all by bruises, the cuts, and my scars.  He treated my wounds, and he gave me a hug, He asked
‘How long has this been going on?’
I was too afraid to answer, and I cried.
‘You can trust me, with me your safe…’
With this I told him everything, and he said to me
‘My house will be finished in a few days, so I won’t be here anymore’
I cried, hearing this I thought I would once again be left alone. I was wrong. He put his hand to my cheek and looked into my eyes
‘I’m taking you with me; I am going to protect you’
'why me?' 
                                                                                         
  A few days later when he packed his bags, we secretly packed mine as well. And he took me away from my pain and suffering. Over the next year I lived with him, life was good. I was doing better in school, I made friends for the first time, I believed in God once again and I was happy.  
But just when life seemed ‘normal’, something happened. My uncle was ‘unauthorised’ to be my guardian. And we found ourselves in court against my grandparents to see who could gain custody.My grandparents won.Once again I was taken to live with them, and once again I was made to live in the small bedroom down the hall. I hated it.
 My uncle wasn’t allowed to see me anymore, I was alone. It wasn’t long until the beating started again, and this time it was worse. I would be beaten at least 3 times a day, I couldn’t get help. I was too afraid.
I couldn’t cope with my pain, and slowly I began to make the same mistakes as my mother.  I started to smoke weed, and drink. It made me forget things, it made me happy.
 My grades dropped, I failed everything.
I had almost no friends, except for my ‘pot buddies’.
I was a mess.

When I was about 14, I was at the local shopping centre by myself. I was walking and suddenly I bumped into a young girl, I recognised her but I couldn’t remember where from. With a puzzled face she looked at me and said 
‘Is that you Andy?’
And then it clicked to me,
‘CAT?!’
It was my old friend Catalina, I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t seen her since before I was taken away from my mum. We hugged, and we talked. 
Quickly we become best friends once more. Alot had happened to both us since the last time we had talked, so we both had major issues with our lives.
We shared everything. Life seemed better now, I had someone to listen to me I had someone who I knew would never betray me.
I wasn’t alone anymore.  She helped me with my many problems, and I helped her.
We leaned on each other, I needed her and she needed me.When I was about 15 things began to change, they got worse.
The beatings became more often, they became harder and more violent. I was completely neglected; I had to drop out of school because no one would pay for my fees anymore.
I got into weed again, I started drinking again. I started doing other things too.