The Life of Allen
Hello, my name is Allen.
I'm just an ordinary college student, but my life has never been ordinary. Even after all these years, my mother has never treated me like her own son. She was barely in high school when she became pregnant, and my so-called biological father ran away immediately, leaving her all alone. Because of complications, she couldn't have an abortion. She ended up giving birth to me in the bathroom, alone.
At the time, her fear and despair were so overwhelming that she intended to kill me there, quietly, so that no one would ever find out.
By now, it must be clear to everyone that she was quite dumb! I mean, how could you expect that giving birth to a child in a public bathroom would go unnoticed? Naturally, the blood and screaming were immediately noticed by everyone outside. When people went to check, they caught my mother attempting—and failing—to kill me. Unsurprisingly, the police were called right away, and the situation was brought under control.
Somehow, I survived and spent a few days in the hospital. It was there that my mother's family finally discovered she had been pregnant all along, and in their anger, they cast her out of the house. Soon after, the police arrested her for the crime of attempting to harm her newborn. The court, recognizing her fragile state of mind, sent her to a rehabilitation center instead of prison. By the time she was released, her family had already disowned her completely. And in those days… there was no one who came forward to claim me.
In time, the authorities approached my mother once more, asking if she wished to take me back. She agreed, but not out of love, not because she had finally come to her senses, nor because she longed for a fresh start in life. No… she accepted me only so I could serve her needs, a burden meant to labor for her comfort in old age.
All the things I've just spoken… every single one of them—I heard them directly from my own mother countless times throughout my childhood, often when she was drunk. She would curse me bitterly, claiming she had never wanted me, that my very existence had shattered her life… and there were countless other words, too painful to even recount.
All my life, one question haunted me: why didn't my mother care for me? I had tried so hard to be a good son, to do everything right—so why was she so unlike every other mother? Slowly, as I grew older, the truth became painfully clear. After returning from rehab, she had no other options left… she had taken me back not out of love, but simply to just exploit me. Just exploit?!!!
When I was little, she had moved from her original town to another city—where we live now. I would work at local shops and run small errands, while she carefully twisted our story to cast herself as the greatest victim. She used me, a helpless child, to draw everyone's attention toward herself, and she seemed to take pleasure in it. Yes, she was an attention seeker. Looking back now, that's the only conclusion I can reach. On top of it, she would even make me beg for money here and there, and people, moved by pity, would hand it over to her, believing her to be a kind-hearted mother.
As I grew a little older, she launched an entirely new act, she became a family vlogger. You know, one of those 'Mommy vlogging' channels. Yes, the kind with clickbait thumbnails, pranks, and endless challenges. She would force me into absurd antics, sometimes at her own expense, sometimes at mine. I was expected to plaster a fake smile for the camera at all times, and if I failed to perform perfectly, I would be scolded or even hit. Slowly, I was turning into a depressed, traumatized child. Everything began to feel hollow, empty, and meaningless. I didn't even know what I could do anymore.
In this city, my so-called mother meticulously crafted a flawless public image for both of us, herself as the perfect, ideal, hard working mother, and me as her golden, obedient child. No one could have imagined the truth behind her smile. I was so afraid of her that I couldn't even bring myself to speak to anyone outside our home.
Yet somehow, against all odds, I survived. Many times, I wanted to run away, but even then, I knew all too well that a lone child would face nothing but cruelty in this world. Child trafficking, harassment, even murder had become all too common. I didn't have the courage to go to the police, and I had heard countless stories of children being returned to the very abusive parents they had fled. If I had tried to escape, I would only have ended up enduring even more of my mother's beatings.
I knew, deep down, that I wouldn't be able to escape her grasp until I grew up, until I turned eighteen. My mother, that woman, had manipulated me in countless ways, convincing me that I was nothing but bad luck, that every hardship in her life was my fault. She had been forced to flee her original city, her boyfriend had abandoned her, and she had to work tirelessly, and who knows what else she endured? Even now, despite my age, she continues to manipulate me, as if I'm meant to be beaten to death.
But thankfully, I'm no longer that naive child anymore! One of the greatest reasons for this is the environment I've found around me in this city. Even in school and college, away from the shadow of my oppressive mother, I've learned so much. Observing my classmates, seeing how they interact with their families, and understanding their lives has shown me what normal relationships and healthy dynamics truly look like. And so, also my mother's abuse has continued all this time. For a long while, I truly believed it might be my fault, truly, that I was the cause of every problem. I even thought that if I were gone, perhaps everything would finally be resolved.
Ha! Many times like this! Many, many times! I have had thoughts of dying in these years! Many, many times I tried to end myself with a knife or by hanging, trying to get free from this painful stubbornness, but somehow, at the last moment, I was stopped for one reason or another. When I was very small, in childhood, I thought, maybe I'll live a little longer, maybe life will get better? Suddenly, suddenly, some kind of angel entered my mother? Then my biological father, who has now improved, came to take me?
And something with thoughts like, at the moment of death, at the end, how much pain there will be? Dying slowly, with blood dripping a little, is much more painful. It's better to die in a gentle way, without pain, in one go. Like with poison?! But where would I get that? And where would the money for it come from?
As time went on, I grew up. Through it all, there was one constant that guided me—thankfully, it was my studies. Knowledge gave me everything I had desperately needed. Back in school, I had heard bits and pieces from teachers and books about abusive parents, and only then did I truly understand: I was never the problem.
Every person is responsible for their own actions; rarely is it anyone else's fault and certainly never a child's. When I finally understood this, it felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my heart.
But still, most of the time, I felt sad, but I buried myself in my studies and wore a fake smile around my friends to hide it. By the time I was finishing school, her "mommy vlogging" channel was on the verge of shutting down, its views had dwindled to almost bare minimum.
So, she gradually decided to shut down the channel. I was genuinely happy, I no longer had to endure her ridiculous antics in front of the camera. But for her, it felt like a tremendous loss. With that, after all these years, her true nature finally began to surface. The carefully crafted image she had maintained in society was gone, now she spent her time at bars and parties, living recklessly and provocatively.
Honestly, I couldn't have cared less. By then, I was managing my life with my part-time job, had a scholarship in college, and spent most of my time away from home. Naturally, seeing my mother at home was never something I looked forward to.
Even though my past has been deeply depressing, I'm thankful that I haven't lost my courage as a child. I know I carry trauma, and instead of ignoring it, I make every effort to heal and mend myself. I may not have the money to see a therapist or
psychiatrist, but I do everything within my power to take care of my own healing.
And in case you don't know, almost every school really has a counselor to listen to all your problems. Unfortunately, my small local schools didn't have any either. Even though my college does have one, the fees are high, if I paid them, there wouldn't even be enough money for dinner. Still, I do everything I can on my own: meditating, keeping a positive mindset, helping others whenever possible, and most importantly, not taking anything my mother says too seriously or as absolute truth. I took her words to heart as a child… and as an adult, I've paid the price enough.
Now, I refuse to let anything she says affect me. I know what you're probably thinking, if I've grown up, why am I still living in a house with a mother like her? The truth is, I've had a plan to leave for a long time. I just need to finish this final year of college, and after that, my life will truly be my own.
Honestly, I'll never be able to take revenge fully on my so-called mother for the trauma she caused me. But I have devised a small, sweet plan, hopefully, it works.
That was just my everyday life… until yesterday, something completely new happened to me, something I had never experienced before. Want to know what it was? Then listen closely.