Back when I was a young boy my father told me that I need to work hard to be what I wanted to be. To achieve what I truly wanted. He passed during my sophomore year of highschool, and even before he passed, he told me to never give up on my dreams. That as long as I worked hard, I could achieve happiness. And I truly thought that was the case. For you, your happiness is clearly being a full-time pokemon player. For me, it was singing. I thought that even if I might not earn the most money, or have the most respected job, that if I worked hard, I would be happy.
Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. Reality was much harsher than what my father had made it out to be. After his death, I was burdened with bills, a brother that refused to accept the facts, and a mother that was too grief-stricken to work. It felt like my life was crumbling around me, falling into pieces. Perhaps it was my hormones that made me so dramatic, but I truly felt like I was at the end of my line. But even throughout all this, there's one thing I did.
I sang my troubles out, I sang my sadness out, I sang everything that had bottled up within me out. I practiced for hours, staying in the choir room by myself after school. My voice and the music I made with it was my only comfort during those days. It was the reason I held fast, and it was the reason I am here, typing this today, to tell my tale. Eventually, life started picking up. I won't pretend like it was my singing that did it, but it was my persistence that was reinforced by my voice that pulled me through. Every morning, I would cook breakfast for my mother, still bedridden, and go to school. After school, I worked. After work, I sang. After I sang, I would eat, kiss my mother goodnight, sleep for a couple hours, then repeat the process. My mother eventually recovered, and one night I came home to her waiting for me, out of her bed. She embraced me with tears in her eyes, apologizing for being such a burden the past few months, saying what a good young man I was, how proud she was of me, how she missed my father, how she was sorry about everything, how she would be my mother again.
I'm not going to lie. In that moment, I felt like I was a baby again. After months of hardening myself, killing my emotions, and trying to be a harder man that I was, it all broke down when my mother hugged me. I sobbed into her shoulder for a solid thirty minutes, and we just stood there like that, hugging each other in the doorway. It is one of my fondest memories of her.
My mother passed on December 9th, 2017. Just over four days ago. A drunk driver ran a red light and rammed into the side of her car at 70 miles per hour. Even now, as I type this, I feel numb inside. When I heard the news, it felt like something inside of me died. Something important. I found out what it was. Two days after her death. It pains me to write that. It feels so surreal. Her death. My mother is dead. Two days after her death, I tried to sing.
The only thing that escaped my open mouth was a sob. As I crumpled down in my room, a sobbing heaving mess, I realized what had died inside of me. My passion. My love for singing had died, along with my mother. I had thought I had hit my lowest low, and now, not only have I hit lower, but my one light of salvation had also been put out. I had dark thoughts. Troubled thoughts. Thoughts of just ending it all, to be with my parents, wherever they may be.
But yesterday. Yesterday, something flickered inside of me. Something told me that I could not give up here, that I had more to do. So I decided to share my story. Share my story with those who truly need it. I happened to read your story, and I have to say, this shit was actually so fucking stupid that I can't believe I wasted twenty minutes of my time typing this bullshit like Jesus fucking Christ man you're close to your thirties and you want to play Pokemon to help your Pokemon addiction? Bro imma tell you straight up right now like addiction ain't some Pokemon battle man you gotta get some fucking help like get a fucking psychiatrist or some shit the nerve of some people I swear to God. Wait hold up you're not even actually in your thirties, and you're lying to your parents too? Man I swear if my son told me he took an off year from school that I'm probably paying for to do an online job and see him playing Japanese furry-dominating self-insert video games, I'd kick his broke delusional ass outta my house smh