Cryaotic
Spill it all. Let it flow through you, dog.

Let’s hit some reality up in this.

Let me paint you a picture. Weave this brush and throw in some color for you listen to the story of a boy.

Roughly five years ago a boy was there, sitting in his room, playing a popular massively multiplayer online role-playing game alone in the middle of the night. He was finishing up his last year of high school with little on his mind other than socializing with the players in the game he had been absorbed in for years prior to this night and ignoring all prospects of the future. The usual background hum of the fan in the dead of night abruptly drowned out the sudden sound of a woman crying, screaming, or the usual arguing over things like money with another older feminine tone and the like. This voice belonged to his mother, a single woman for as long as he could remember, a woman who tried her best to raise three children on her own after being left by numerous others.

His mother suffered from depression. On more than one occasion the boy found himself in possession of her medication to prevent her from overdosing purposefully on the pills. She desperately wanted to be loved. She refused to believe her very children did so, she wanted love from a man. A lover. She went through many men, all of them scum in their own unique way. Some addicts, some liars, some thieves, some users, others abusers. She was desperate, and adapted her own personality to that of who would accept her. If the one who would hold her in his arms was a user of a certain narcotic, she would begin to partake in such a substance as well. If one were of a more aggressive nature she would vent a similar rage onto her children in a similar, only psychological nature.

The boy did not even bother to learn the names of these men who came into his home. He knew they would not be there long. He looked at them with the greatest amount of silent distrust and unwillingness to accept as a passive introvert of a young adult could. He carried on to absorb himself into a game and block out the constant train wrecks that continued to assault his home-life.

Then, someone came in one night. He didn’t know this man. He knew his mother did due to the constant sounds of sex coming from the other side of the wall that he tried to drown out with headphoned music blasting. The position becoming extremely awkward when the left headphone died and he could hear it all, but that’s sidetracking. He introduced himself to the boy and, hesitantly, he returned the gesture as he continued to sit there, playing his online computer game.

Over time he saw more and more of this man. His mannerisms slowly falling off and becoming part of the boy’s own. After a while he noticed that, in his eyes, the boy saw almost an older version of himself in the man. Not so much a father-figure yet, but a friend. Someone whom truly understood his habits, his interests and could aid him in the things he wished to learn. All those hobbies and tasks he did alone, he finally had someone who would willingly and excitingly accompany him. All this, and the weirdest thing… his mother was smiling more. She was happy. She wasn’t crying. The boy thought, finally, things would work.

Finally.

The years roll by, the man and the mother wed, the family is happy. Parties, friendly banter, movie nights, things the family never once did before… they finally connected and acted as a true family should. 

But then the crying started again.

The shouting. The accusations, the arguments of money, the worthlessness of another, the emotional out-bursts, the pills. So many pills.

In attempts to mend the shaky relationship the two decided to purchase their own real home together. With this, they thought, they could move past things. They could mature and truly rely on one another and grow old together. Things were wonderful for all but a handful of weeks. Then it all began again. The boy found himself lucky this time, his room finding recluse in the back of the house away from the screams and the shouts. He found himself staying up every night until the sun rises, falling asleep restlessly, being woken up almost as if on queue by sobbing of an emotionally abused woman, a woman whom he loved, but was only a man in age, not maturity. His own nervousness, his own scared personality, his own unwillingness to stand up and try to change it all keeping himself locked in his room, refusing to step forward and say that enough was enough. To be able to step up and protect the woman who protected him from the world during his days of innocence - he couldn’t do it.

He wasn’t strong enough to step up to the pain he witnessed every day, he was too much of a coward. He knew it was coming. He knew the accusations his mother made, the ones which she spoke of to which people deemed her simply paranoid, were absolutely true. He knew as well as his mother that the man had, for many months, been psychologically abusing the heart of the mother. All the while sleeping with another. Toying with the mother’s heart strings like a toy to toss around the room like a piece of junk - he treated her like nothing, completely different from when he first entered the boy’s, now man’s, life.

The biggest question that ran through the boy’s mind. The most confusing thing of it all he continued to ask himself was: Why would a man come into the life of someone, only to absolutely destroy her. To further crumble a woman’s trust in men after being abused and mistreated by innumerable individuals throughout the entirety of her life. All the while, all the while, treat the boy like nothing was wrong. To joke around with him, to treat him like a son. To treat him like a friend. To befriend him and let the boy begin to look up to him as the first father figure in his life, while you sit there and torment the only mother he has ever known.

Venting status: Achieved.

Sup.

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  14. alliethesockmonkey reblogged this from cryaotic and added:
    damn cry, you’re gonna make me upset! :’(
  15. rising-superstar reblogged this from cryaotic and added:
    See, everyone’s got their favorite Lets Players. Ya got your Pewds, your Markipliers, and your Tobuscuses. But mine will...
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