my life

my life

Sitting on my bed, staring at my ceiling in a shoebox of a room, in a massive city called Sydney.
It’s the year 2007 and my mind is crowded with remorse, guilt and hate.
Its hard growing up here, especially in Kings cross, full of brothels and drug dealers
Your damned if you do and your damned if you don’t, well that’s what my mum keeps telling me, not that she’s home much, she’s always out on the streets trying to make a living, You know to have the Australian dream of owning their own home. I knew that my mum was drug dealer, but she still gave me food, water and a roof over my head.
My mum always wanted the best life for me, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t do much more, she struggled in everything she did.

My dad died when I was 8, which has now been 6 years.
I remember the day like it was just yesterday.
He came home one night after another one of his shifts, scared and skeptical, he ran inside, got his bags, kissed me on the head, said he loved me and took off.
The next day we got a phone call from the police saying that he was in the Saint Vincent’s hospital with a bullet wound.
So straight away we were off to see him.
When we got there I ran in the room and gripped his hand like it was his last breath.
Right then and there, he stopped holding me, his eyes closed and the nurses came running in the room.
He died that night in the cold bed of ward 14.

When my mum comes home at night, all she could do is sleep, and as soon as she woke up in the mornings she was back off to work.
Each night I prayed to god that she would find a better way, but as the years pass, and watching my mum struggle to raise me, I start believing that the big guy up above, just wasn’t there.

School was even worse, the kids knew that my mum was a dealer, so I got a lot of shit from them, but all I worried about was what marks I got.
I don’t know what it was but when I got my first ‘A’ my mums face lit up like a candle,
She said it was the most proud...