Chapter 1 – Leaving Behind

Friday the twenty third and it was a snowy January. I cannot seem to comprehend the fact that it has been four and half months since my mother died. Just another terrible event in my miserable life, I guess.  I had not spoken to her in six years, and her death was not greeted by feelings of grief. Instead I felt almost nothing; I could only feel the emptiness that was spawned by her when I was a child. I’m getting ahead of myself though. I suppose it would be proper if you actually knew who I was, so let’s rewind.

My name is Jonathan Gales. I was born July third, 1985, and I was the fourth baby to mother and father. Three older sisters, and I was the only boy. We lived in Colorado Springs, Colorado, a beautiful place to raise a family. At least that’s what my parent’s thought, before they were divorced. My mother, Felicia, was an addict. Drugs, alcohol, and she loved to play the victim; because of this my father became the target of many accusations. My father, Gregory, is a good man. Even still he is an impulsive idiot, who does things despite of the consequences. That trait was passed on to this one and only son. Father was always being yelled at for stupid actions when I was young, and his common nickname was “asshole”. I was still young at the time my parents divorced, and I still could not understand what kind of women my mother was. It was a few years later in my early teens that I began my decent into the darkness that I existed in for such a long period of time. The childhood I had experienced became a lie. Events that I was oblivious to when I was younger became magnified when I grew up. Knowledge of my mother’s faults combined with my deep personal issues created a constant black cloud over my pitiful existence. Skip forward to today, the twenty-third, and I feel nothing for my dead mother.

After my thirteenth birthday my life became a blur and I became a zombie. Going through the motions with no constant emotion, and nothing certain in my life. Graduating high school, four years of college at Iowa, deciding to take my chances as a writer, and moving to New York City. That is where I am at today, New York City; the dead of winter. Living in an apartment that is paid for by my poetry. I refuse to take money from my dad, or my other family. This depression has disconnected me from my sisters and my father. Friday, the twenty-third, and everything is falling apart. The walls of my one bed, one bath are closing in on me, and as I drift off into a fitful sleep the image of my mother disappears from my brain. I awoke the next morning overwhelmed by the idea to leave New York City. The grief of my mother was buried deep along with many other traumatic events in my trek called life.  I left the apartment, and ten minutes later ended up on a dirty bench with no clue of where to go, or what to do.