How To Save A Life

I've spent my whole life wondering what I'd be doing if I was born into a normal family. What would I be doing if I wasn't poor? Where would I be if I went to college?
I'd always imagined myself as a doctor, or a teacher.
But I guess fat had a different plan for me.
I was born into manual labor and hunger. A broken family with a broken house.
My mother, she was the most important person in my life. She was sick for as long as I could remember. She was bed bound with Multiple Sclerosis ever since I was about six years old. The muscles in her legs got so weak that she couldn't even walk.
This means I was her caregiver for more than half of my childhood. We couldn't really afford a nurse because we were almost in dept by the hospital bills.
But I enjoyed caring for her. She praised me often and told me I was an amazing son and the best nurse she'd ever seen.
I loved her so much, and she said she loved me.

The one day after school, when I was seventeen years old, I walked back home in my ripped, unwashed jeans to find my mom in bed.
She laid still, her eyes closed. The knowing smile had looked like it had vanished from her face long before I got there.
But she was asleep, so I decided to wait a bit before trying to wake her up.
I came back an hour later.
"Mom?" I asked softly, tapping her shoulder. "Mom, wake up."
She didn't answer.
I watched her for a moment, her chest staying perfectly still, no sign of breathing.
"Mom, wake up," I said louder.
"Mom!" My voice cracked.
I gripped her shoulder gently and shook her. "Mom, wake up, please!" I begged.

I ended up calling the ambulance and I held my mother's cold hand until they showed up.
I was bawling as they took her away.
They let me ride in the back of the ambulance with her, but as soon as the defibrillators came out, I'd wished I was back at home.
It was the most horrifying thing I'd ever witnessed. The paramedics slammed the defibrillators to her chest and I could see the electricity course through her body.
I remember lots of shouting and lots of tears.

They said it was too late.
I did stay at the hospital with my mother for the rest of the night. I cried harder than I'd ever cried before. My mom was dead. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to.
I was going to be sent to an orphanage.
The next morning, didn't even bother taking my belongings to the orphanage. They had no use where I was going.
There was no service for my mother, considering we had no money. Our house and belongings were sold to the bank, and my bank account was still empty.
The orphanage gave me new clothes though. I was thankful for that.

I went through a depression all throughout the time I stayed at the orphanage.
Once I was eighteen, they kicked me out. I was now an adult and I had to get my own place. I couldn't, however. I was broke.
I was officially labeled a ward of the state.
I spent each night on the dangerous streets of New Jersey, homeless. I had nothing, but the clothes on my back. I was always tired and hungry.
I constantly begged people for money, just so I could go buy a meal at the local diner.
But eventually, I got kicked out because of my foul odor, so I had to go to the subway bathrooms. I washed myself with hand soap and water in the rotten sink.
The clothes were still a problem though.
I found a laundry mat not long after, and I stole quarters in order to pay for it.
I was ashamed as I stripped all my clothing, except for my underwear, and stuffed them into the washer. I hated myself for it, but it became a normal routine. I usually went at night, because police look down on public nudity.

I celebrated my birthdays by myself in the park.
I took walks, looking around at all the families and animals. I almost felt jealous of all the kids with their parents. I cringed at the children who treated their parents like shit.
They should be grateful that they have parents. They're lucky.
Their dad didn't leave before they were they were born and got drunk and died somewhere. They didn't lose their mom to a disease that was incurable. They didn't walk in on her dead in the living room.

It was when I was twenty years old when I finally got a job that didn't require a high school diploma or a college degree. It was minimum wage, of course, but I'll get what I can.
I was paid in cash.
I was a construction worker.
I wouldn't say I was bad at my job, but I wasn't necessarily good at it. I had no experience.
The only good thing that came out of my job, besides the small amount of money I was getting, was Bob Bryar. I became really good friends with him.
I told him my living situation and he immediately offered for me to stay with him.
So I moved right in.
He and I came up with a pretty good system. I paid for groceries while he paid for rent.
I also got on my boss's good side and he gave me bigger projects to work on and paid me more. I actually had enough money to buy myself a cell phone. It wasn't expensive, but it was awesome!

I met more people on the job, like Ray Toro. I found out he liked The Misfits as much as I did. We became close friends. Really close friends.
He ended up taking me home one weekend and took my virginity.
He helped me realize I was gay.

Bob was gone that weekend. He didn't tell me where he was going and he wouldn't answer his phone, but he ended up coming back on Monday with a butt ton of cash.
And me, being me, I got curious and snooped.
In his bedroom, I found a bag of coke, a crack pipe, and about an ounce or two of weed.
I wasn't surprised. I had a feeling he did it. I even asked him about it too, then that night, he asked me to roll a joint with him.
I did it, because hey, it was only weed.
After that night, I started smoking more. A lot.
At least one joint a day, actually. They made me happy and it did me no harm.
After a while, I was pressured into snorting cocaine. It hurt at first. I choked. I coughed.
But then I snorted up another line.
And then another.

Bob told me about the guy he got it from. I went to go see him, because I was running out and needed more.
His name was Bert McCracken.
"You should work for me Frank," he suggested. "You look like the kinda guy who can get stuff done for me."
I said I would. He sent me to collect from people and I would get a portion of whatever I collected. The job made me discover I had an unknown talent for shooting a gun.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Notes

Couldn't fit it all in one chapter (didn't want to type it all right now actually, listening to Melanie Martinez)

-androreo