Plastered on the wall
in the corner of my small
bedroom is a picture of my
mother. I guess it is a picture
of my mother. It's been there
since I was still in the crib...
In...that small bedroom.

I always assumed it was
my mother. It looks like I
imagine her. Maybe that's
because her picture is in
that corner...in that...well,
you know...brown hair, brown
eyes. Kinda curly and dark.
Deep brown, but kind. That's
how I see her at least. My sister?
I don't know...And probably not
my dad.

Huh...yeah right...my dad.
He never talks about her. When
I ask, it's just, "I don't know."
So I don't really know much about
it. Or her...or whatever.
So here I am, 24, in that same
little bedroom with that same
picture plastered on the wall
in the corner just above my
bed.

24. Haven't done a thing
about my life. Dropped out of
school - a rather prestigious one
at that, too - took a shitty retail
job at a shitty pay and bought
a shitty car. I thought I
could be happy in the real world.
Working, paying bills, saving money.
Money! I thought I could make it.
But after a while, I wasn't happy
anymore. I had no friends at home.
I didn't do anything when I wasn't
working. Sat in my little room
in the corner by my mother.

Pretty soon, I was down to part-
time. I didn't care. I just
sat in the corner watching TV.
Not even writing. Sometimes
reading. Barely eating. Losing
weight. A real piece of shit.

So I quit my job. And now I
am happy. I just sit in my
little bedroom, in the corner,
on the floor...the same pants
on for 2 years. Ratty shirt.
Haven't eaten in four days.
Down to 102 pounds on a six
foot frame. Look like a
heroin addict on the path
to recovery? Nope. Just
a little kid who's never
known is mother.