Keep the Pain Away. . .

I looked out the window to watch the landscape move beneath the airplane. We were soon to arrive in Port Angeles. I willed for the tears to stay back but without much success, a silent tear slid down my cheek. It all started in Minnesota. My home state.

My family used to be close and perfect. Well that was before my loving older brother, Ryan, was killed by a burglar. Quite sad, I know but that’s not the worst part. My father literally went psycho, kooky, crazy, any words pertaining to what happened to him. My father, Christopher, went after my sister, Megan, with a knife, a week after Ryan’s burial. She was brutally slaughtered in her own room. My mother came home but to her surprise, she was pushed down the stairs - by my father - and practically beat to a bloody pulp. All the while that this was going on, I was hiding in the closet, on hold with 911.

I tried saving my sister but as we were hiding in her room - my father unknowing of me crying with Megan - but she pushed me in her closet and opened the bedroom door to fend of my crazed father. One of the worst things that could probably ever happen to a person is watching every family members being killed by someone you used to love. Christopher killed himself when he heard the sirens closing in to the house.

Oh! Did I also mention that I witnessed my brother’s death, too? Yeah, I was the first one to wake up at the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. My blood-curling scream was probably the only thing that woke anyone up. My brother saved me from the butcher knife that was about to be plunged into my chest. Ryan managed to break the burglar’s arm and stuff but the burglar had a pistol stashed in his jacket. Those two shots ended everything.

Pretty stupid that I witnessed my whole family’s death and I’m only 16.

I was put into counseling every day. My counselor told me that I should take my emotions - such as anger, pain, and etcetera - out by going to the gym. Well instead, I just went to my brother’s old mixed martial arts teacher.

I was one of his best students because I always went to classes before and after my counseling sessions. I even went there when I didn’t have too, to just work out and take my anger out on the punching bags. After about a year of living with my grandmother Anne, she passed away. It was yet another tragic event in my life but Granny Anne died in her sleep peacefully and I didn’t have to find her cold and lifeless. That would probably have led me to putting a gun in my mouth.

I was sent to go and live with my Aunt Meredith in Forks, Washington. She lived close to the reservation there. I was not looking forward to leaving my mixed martial arts teacher, Big Joe. Well, I was the only one to call him Big Joe. He was like a non-crazy father to me.

However, I ended up having to go even if I didn’t want to. Yes, yes, stupid yet again. Maybe I can actually make use of this. At least Big Joe called his friend in Port Angeles so I could continue my training and not become emotionally depressed. Physical fighting and reading always kept my mind away from the horrible memories etched in my past.

Fun fact #12 of me is that I love to read…and fight…