By the age of 15 I have hated my mother for nearly three years.

But there’s something about death that revives love.

I received the news on June 29th 2011.

That my mother was suspected to have set herself on fire.

That bathsalts are the reason why she nearly killed herself.

I walked outside and fought the urge to go back inside and slaughter everyone in that house.

Tell the foster care system that she was my mother.

How dare you take me from her.

But then I realized...

The group home has removed the knives from the house because I was mentally unstable.

It’s funny...

They tested me twice to see if I was mentally ill.

I passed both times.

But that did not convince me that I was all there upstairs.

But having to wait two weeks to see your nearly dead mother really does drive you insane.

There was no “proper transportation” to take the near 2 hour trip to the burn unit of Lehigh Valley.

But my family went close to 5 times in that two week time period.

I could not go with them because I did not earn my “free time. ”

But when I did...

When I seen my mother.

I tried to hold myself together like a young boy protecting his manhood.

But all I could do is hit the floor when I seen her lifeless body.

Her shaven head.

Her nearly black face.

I talked to her although she could not hear me.

I told her how I should have went to school.

I told her I loved her to death.

I told her everything I still haven’t told her listening ears today.

But I knew nothing would change.

I knew she would do the same shit that got her in that hospital bed.

Cause when I seen my dad overdose at nine.

I seen him turn blue.

And and his heart turn black.

I have accepted that he was dead before they even attempted to revive him.

I thought that this being his third overdose.

He’d realize heroin kills.

You can only cheat death so many times before the devil gets impatient.

But he was at it again.

And my mother was too.

They place bets on life and hope to win.

Just to buy the one thing that kills them.

Drugs kept my mother alive.

Kept her from feeling the 2nd and 3rd degree burns that covered nearly 90% of her body.

But you see.

Drugs kept my mother living.

Drugs kept my mother from suffering.

But drugs also put her there...

There is no such thing as a good drug.

Because I believe that all drugs can kill you if you abuse them enough.

And I am proud to say the only drugs I touch are for my insomnia.

I am proud to have parents that taught me what not to do in life.

I am proud to be the one of two people in my family that does not do drugs.

I am glad that on June 29th 2011 there were no knives in that house. I am glad that life is something that nobody can take from me for a meer $20.

I am glad that drugs changed my life...