The Death of Mispav. short story from my biography ;}

      The death of Mispav.

                                                       By Stephanie-Nichole

I was never a good kid I got into trouble constantly and always felt like my parents had to bail me out on my bad decisions. it's an overarching theology that has followed me all my life, bad decisions made will be corrected by outside powers. so, all my decisions began with the word bad. like when I tried cocaine for the first time then got addicted and quickly realized I didn't have enough money to keep up that habit. I used my body and sex to get a hold of it or when I was 15 and would date men twice my age because they could give me what I wanted or that time I met with a man named Brain in a stingy motel room in Hoboken or Hackensack or something; that might have been one of my worse decisions it's the first time I decided that smoking meth would be a good idea brian introduced me to a world of satanist drug-fuelled group sex that led to hard drug addiction and needles to my arm.

I was doing all of this to hurt myself like everyone else hurt me it was the whole world against me and the supposed pillars of my life my mom and dad hated me the most but sometimes I hated my parents more everyone has that feeling as a child an animosity to parental figures. but you don't get it the feeling of hate was like how you hate that bitch from 10th grade who gave backhanded comments out like gum no this hate was the type of hate that makes you ignore them and threaten your life because the only value to a parent's life is you.

in high school, I was put in the ward on multiple occasions every time I got out my parents treated me better but the scars on my arm arnt for them there for me I feel like I'm drowning in a typhoon of bad decisions. I dropped out of high school because in reality, I would rather get high in school than be in high school not only that covid had decimated my social skills and left me anxious like I couldn't be in a room with another person my head would get big and the temperature would rise my heart would race it was like the walls around me fell in on me.

I got a job and in all honesty, I think Mcdonalds' saved me. being forced to interact with 100s of people a day made me realize things didn't matter accompanied by my dalliances with psychedelics my outlook on life was ruined like nothing mattered and I should smoke my brain to death all the progression I made was going to be undone so why. I hated my mom the most this time screaming matches every day and I did everything I could to piss her off mostly bad days, some good ones, none better than the morning of November 27th; she looked so beautiful I had never seen our apartment filled with so much light and for the first time in months she didn't complain about the weed smell from my morning blunt I put oil on her hair while she talked to me about her week I also told her about my tattoos which she still hadn't noticed; about my plans to get her name tatted on my arm and of course she smirked at the idea. I left for work seeing her beautiful smile as I left I wished I had hugged her when I left. we didn't hug much but I remember what it felt like; she was short so when you did hug her you could smell her hair it always smelt like Tresemme and Blue Moon. Later that day I got a phone call I couldn't answer for whatever reason probably because someone wanted their big mac with more ketchup or some shit but she had texted me she wanted me to bring home Chinese food I would get off work until 12 so McDonald's is what she settled for. I never talked to my mother again. the big Macs were in my hands when I dialed 911; all I could do was panic over her dying body on the floor. 

   Grief did something to love it made it strong in a way. love became a yearning it had been like dying, that sliding down the mountain pass it had been like a region of dreed. It was like slipping into fever, like falling down a well during an eclipse you wake up whimpering there is no sun it is so cold where I am. It doesn't end it doesn't go away; no a hole was ripped out of me standing over her dead body. I was 13 minutes late to the ICU the doctors kept the life support on her chest it was pumping, it drowned out the flat line. she was still warm I can still remember how she smelled when I kissed her head like coconut oil. I felt that blade slice me. it cut me deep and spun, it gut me and rammed me I'm not crazy I was carved like a pig in that hospital. My uncle was crying; he's a bitch he would never get it. no one could get. my father died months before but I didn't care it was characteristic of him to be an ass and do anything to control the situation I was orphaned it was hard but I'm not some depressed little  bitch who kills herself because her parents died. that's corny, mispav needs to die.