bc i'm hyperfixating on Kassy

On the 19th of November, my story began. I was born, and it all went downhill from there.

I knew very little about my mom growing up - she left details about herself, such as her age and her family highly ambiguous. Now time has passed, and while I will never understand my mother nor her life, she left me an explanation for certain things.

Let's start this off by saying: my mom is dead. D-E-A-D. So, I can pretty much say whatever I want about her. She won't know about it. She won't be offended. It's a very therapeutic feeling that I can write 'my mom was a massive bitch who made my life a living hell' with no consequence.

I'm well aware how this book will be received. Waaaa. She's your mother. She gave birth to you. You should be grateful she gave you the gift of life. She also gave me the gift of depression, anxiety, and crippling self esteem issues, so here is my formal thank you to Sara Blackwood for everything she did for me. Sure, I'll never be able to function as normal person but at least she pushed me out of her vagina!

With that out of the way, let's start from the beginning. I grew up with no dad. However, it should be noted that at the time of me writing this book, I have reunited with my biological father, Mateo Flores, who has been so much kinder than I could have ever imagined. He has truly taken the news of my existence in stride, and has welcomed me as part of his family. Huge thank you to him for helping me fill in the gaps of this following section.

This section is called called Kassy is conceived. Because this is where I describe my parents' romance and how I came into existence. You might find I'm not the best at naming things as this book progresses.

Sara Blackwood. The most beautiful girl in the world. Well, that's not true, because beauty is highly subjective, but that's what my dad said he thought when he saw her for the first time.

I saw pictures of my mom at 16, which is the age she fell pregnant with me. I understand why he says that regarding her. She had the face of a vixen; a sharp jawline and the prettiest pair of blue eyes.

My mom's parents were, apparently, not the best people. Which, if my upbringing is anything to go by, I can believe is the product of generational trauma. The only person from my mom's family I ever met was my Aunt Meredith. She's an opera singer who plays just about every instrument known to man - and she taught me everything she knew. In all honesty my Aunt Meredith was one of the only things to keep me going throughout my childhood.

Meredith now has early onset dementia. I'd love to ask her more about my mom, however she simply blinks at me in confusion now.

Anyway, my grandparents were apparently not the nicest couple. Personally, I've never met them, and I'm unsure as to whether I want to. My mom ran away, and she ran into a comrade from the Galaxy Garrison.

An 18 year old from Argentina, Mateo. Immediately smitten with one another, they spent 3 incredible nights with one another. I asked my dad to spare me the details, so if you wanted to know the whole story of my parents fucking, sorry, because I do not.

Well, all good things must come to an end. My mother was found by the police, and was forced to return home to her abusive parents. 3 months later, they found out she was pregnant, and she was forced out of the house. She relocated a few cities away, and I was born.

The shocking part is that my dad knew she was pregnant. However, he had received a horrific injury following a piloting accident, and had an unstable recovery. He spent a long, long time in hospital, having gone into septic shock twice and getting pneumonia. The news of my mother's pregnancy was delivered to him however there wasn't much he could do. As recovery was on the forefront of his mind, the knowledge of my existence retreated to his sub-conscience.

The house I lived in growing up was an old place rented from an old lady, Mrs Hernandez. My mom worked as a waitress Monday through Thursday, and while it wasn't amazing money, it was enough. You'd never believe it, but for the first few years of my life, I was a well loved, well looked after little girl.

At 4 years old, my mom decided to bring me to the local park. There was one other kid in the park that day. A short Japanese kid who eyed me a little nervously. No matter how much time passes, I remember our first interaction well.

"Hello." I said.

"Hi." He said.

"What's your name?" I said.

"Takashi Shirogane." He said.

"My name is Kassiopeia Eira Blackwood." I said. "I'm going to call you Shiro."

"Okay. Can I call you Kassy?"

"Yes. Would you like to be my best friend, Shiro?"

"Yes."

And from that day on, that boy and I spent every moment we could together. He would grow up into Lieutenant Shirogane; the Black Paladin, more affectionately known as Space Dad.

Shiro was the best thing that happened to me. He remains my closest companion, and while we drifted away for a while - high school - I'm pleased to say he's still in my life.

But things went downhill.

At 5, my mother started dating a guy. The biggest dick in the world. They would scream at each other all the time, and it always made me sad. I never got caught in the middle, but I hated him. How dare he speak to my beautiful mother in that manner?!

The two split up, but he left her with a special present - a second pregnancy.

7 years old. My birthday. My mom went into labour, and left me all by myself in the house. I didn't know how to cook, so I didn't eat. I sat in silence in the living room, alone. The television blared. The batteries in the television remote had gone dead, so it was stuck on the news. Dark, grey, bleak news.

My birthday had always been my day. We always made it a big deal. I always felt loved.

I couldn't blame mom for going into labour, but I wished then she could have been slightly more responsible in getting me someone to spend my birthday with.

She came home 3 days later with my sister, Maeve. She was born the day after my birthday.

She was a small, pale baby, and resembled a potato slightly. I thought she was ugly but I didn't mind. I still loved her and her beautiful brown eyes.

Mom stopped liking me then. She started shouting at me for the smallest reasons, and that's when she decided not even my appearance was good enough for her.

"Kassy, you really ought to lose some weight."

"Maybe we should look at getting you some makeup."

"Your sister is so pretty, Kassy, I wish you were the same."

This was the soundtrack to my life between the ages of 7 and 19. That was, when she decided I was worth her time to speak to.

A few years after Maeve, another kid came along. Jasper. He's alive so I can't be mean about him.

Mom liked to go out. She loved the drink a lot more than she loved myself and my siblings, and so from a young age I learned to look after not only myself but 2 young children.

I had very few friends, other than Shiro, however the two of us ended up drifting apart as life went on. We reconnected in our adulthood, so I felt alone most of the time.

Mom would come home drunk. I'd be up, usually in some effort to at least try and shift the homework. As I got older, school got harder, and my grades slipped badly. I was spending all my time making sure my siblings were fed, watered, washed, with clean clothes and a clean house. Most of the time I neglected my own needs just to make sure they were getting enough.

This isn't me wallowing in self pity, though. I had something they didn't. Mommy Dearest.

She'd enter the door, her blonde hair would be all messed up, her mascara around her eyes. She always looked somehow tragically beautiful. She was as thin as a rake with a huge pair of boobs, like a Victoria's Secret model. I always thought, grimly, that when she was drunk and a mess she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Then, she'd cry.

I'm a horrible mother. You deserve better. I'm sorry. I'm sorry; I'm sorry; I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'll be better. You're beautiful. My beautiful baby girl. My daughter. My Kassy.

Then, I'd help her to bed. I'd put water out for her and some painkillers. I'd stay by her until she was asleep. I'd sometimes cry. I'd take her hand and kiss it softly, and tell my momma I loved her. And she'd smile and sleepily tell me she loved me too.

In the morning, she'd still be asleep, so I'd take my siblings to school, and go to school myself. Exhausted, I'd usually fall asleep half way through math and get into trouble. Then, by the time I'd get home, the beast would be awake.

She would glare daggers at me. I'd rush my siblings into the kitchen and get them some snacks and encourage them to do their homework. I'd close the door, and allow her to unleash her hangover-induced rage onto me.

You're a disappointment. A fat, pathetic disappointment. I feel like I deserve better as your mother for raising you.

And I'd go to a place in my head where words don't sting and block her out.