Crayon Drawings

As soon as they found out they moved me away from the place it all started, but things only got worse. The screams I would emit every few months in the middle of the night had increased to every night since the day they moved us apart. They said they were doing it to protect me, but how are they protecting me if they’re the reason I’m in so much pain. Without him I feel lost and alone; I feel as though I’m dying from the inside out; that my body will continue to walk on even after I’m long gone and dead to the world. Mother seems to think it’s all done within my mind, and that I had created the whole thing. She saw it, though. She knows it’s true, and I hate her for pulling us apart. Father, he knows, too. He refused to believe it. Called me crazy for saying such things, and would walk away. He never took me seriously - he still doesn’t. They think all they’ve done to me is actually for me, but they’re wrong! It’s not, and I can tell by the way they look at me. I can tell by the things they say about me when they think I’m not listening; I can tell by the looks I gain when they think my back is turned, and the hushed whispers to their friends. They really think I have no idea, but I do.

They thought moving me from Georgia to Washington would make things less complicated, and that their lives would go back to being normal - they were wrong. Even if they can walk down the street here without the rumors that passed from lip to lip; neighbor to neighbor, their lives will never go back to normal. After all, how normal can their lives be if their one (and only) son is imprisoned in a mental health hospital? I’m thinking, it can’t be too normal - no matter how hard they pretend. They can walk on, acting as though I don’t exist, but they know deep down that I do. I will always be in their thoughts; the back of their minds reminding them just how screwed up their lives really are because they just had to have a psychopath for a son. Of course, I know I’m not psychopathic nor am I a liar. They just want to believe it; they just want me out of their physical lives to make things a little less complicated.

I’m not crazy. I know what I have experience, and I know where I belong. The problem is that people tend to believe anything out of the ordinary is insane, and I am determined to prove them wrong. I want to show them that what happened to me is real, and that their reaction to it all was not the way to handle it. I want them to know I love him; he made my life easier.

My name is Remi Watson, and this is mydemented story.