Me: Chapter Seven – Hardening Woods or The Hardest Rambling I’ve Ever Written

TAKE ONE: This is where it gets “real.” And this’ll be a long’n. Probably the longest rambling ever. So buckle up. Also. This is where there’s a lot of picutres of houses. So. You’re Welcome, HGTV?!

TAKE TWO: This ramblong? It’s been the hardest to write. Hell, this “take two” is more like “take four.” It’s probabnly going to be the longest rambling ever. But I always say that. There’s so many psychological, and like, deeply thinking things happening here. And it’s all going to be, all of this, every word of it, I’ma be arguing in my mind about it. Merhaos, some of that will show up, merhaps it won’t. Either way. This is. The hardest rambling I’ve ever written. Mostly because, this is the “OH NO! I’M DEEPLY DAMAGED!” Moment of my life. But upon reflection. It’s like. Bruh. But I mean. Even Phillip, has said in NO WHERE NEAR these words, be he essentially said, “Nah dude, what happened to you was bad.” So… whatever.

Oh yeah… the “housese” thing I talked about in “Take One,” That’s probabably gona be in the next chapter.


Someone’s callingn my name…?

I’m only assuming this gameplay right now…

“Ryan!” Someone (I have no ideea who it was that shouted towards me, I’ll assume it’s my mom),. cried out from the top of the stairs. “They’re about to cut the cake!” They informed me whilst I sat next to two incoming famly members of whom I have barely any recolection. From memberry, they were twins. But. They obviously weren’t. Like… twins aren’t accurate at all upon reflection (WTF YOU MENTIONING IT THEN? CAUSE I’M WORKING THROUGH ALL OF THESE THOUGHTS SHUT UP, CRIME!) The two kids that were in the basement with me, they were.. I think… sons of my new sister0-in-law? (Hell, there may have just been one kid, or a son and a daughter but honestly, all I know is my new sister-in-law’s kid[s] hung out with me at this moment in the basement) I dunno. Whatever. I’m pretty sure I asked these kins  around a half-hour ao if they wanted to play Nintendo with me in the basement.

At this point in time, it was now May of that year.

I’m eight-years-old.

We moved into that house, it couldn’t have been any later than February of the new year. January/February/howevertmieworks. This is now the thid house my family has moved to in the one year we have livedin Colorado. Again, the first two were initially split witj a secong family. But. Other family ditched us before the lease of the second house. Drama. Drama. Drama. I assume.

(RANDOMISH SIDENOTE: I’ve been “home schooled” this entire time. Since kindergarten and Ms. Lillow as mentioned here and probably other places I dunno anymore. This year, here? It’d be the second consecutive year of home school.

Don’t get me wrong, I defitely learned and stuffs. I just… you know… was home… schoole.d And. Uh… it’s for certain, noteworthy around these parts.)

My dad met Phillip by way of 7-11. The gas station was one of, if not, the first employment option my dad had secured upon moving to Colorado.

Oh yeah. That was a whole thing. Merhaps I mentioned it, I dunno,. If I did, then allow me to reiterate: My family moved to Colorado without any sort of job opportunities waiting… nothing… they just wanted to GTFO of Minnesota. The end.

At some point, Phillip had moved into our house. This dedinitely happened whilfst Mounting Eagleas and all that. Hell, Phillip’s income had tried to substitute Kelly’s after she had moved out. But nopes. We still couldn’t Mount Eagles. Ever. At the end of the day… yeah… Phillip was now a memeber og the household.

This household, specifically…

NOT AT ALL RANDOM SIDENOTE: Bruh, I’m pretty positivwe my dad… if not built, then definitely reinforced, a porch that stood in front of that house. And niow… so many-a peerson have since played a part in takomg it down. BOOOOOOO! People! BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“DIANE!” my grandma cried out. The fall had begun.

This was her first time visiting us at this house.


A thing you’ve gotta realize about this house.

I’ma try my best to describe all this, anyways.


You go up- the porch that’s not there anymore. Walk in through the front door. Obviously. DIRECTLY in fronto of your eyesight is like… a twoish-step platform that leads to the upstairs (those windows you see there on the second story). Let’s say, you walk on that twoish step platform and you’re on top of it. You’re on the platform. Congrats. To your immiate right, is the stairs leading you to the second story. Immediately in front of you are two-ish steps that take you down. If you go down, to your left is a loft-ish type room that has the garage attached to it. To your immediate right is the kitchen. In front of you is a half-bathroom. BUT. Keep in mind. You’d need to step down twoish stairs. To get to any of those three destinations (loft/kitchen/half-bathroom) because you’ve been standing on a 4x4ft.ish platform. Thing. OK. NOW. Let’s say you turned right wgeb you were on the platform. And you walked up those stairs to the second story. Once tyou reached the IMMEDIATE top,. there’s nothing. Just a wall (btw, walls surround the stairs… like a hallway but you’re climing stairs). To your right and left is another step on both sides. And BOOM. You’re officially on the second story. Anfter making one of those final steps there. I hope that made sense.


I was originally in the loftish room, which was essentially the family room? At least that’s what it was to us. But I heard her cry out the name, “Diane!” So I was standing in the doorway when I saw my grandma. Lying on her back. On our platform that leafd to the second story.

She was 66-years-old at the time.

Her legs were flung up “into the sky” as I recalled in the aftermath of all of this. There she was. Lying there. On the platform. Her last word was shouting out my mom’s name.

You see,  she had forgotten that she had taken a final step… at the top of the steps… Sigh… legit… the top of the staircase looked like:


She lost her step… on either the right or left side. And fell down the stairs.

She cried my mom’s name as she fell.


I mean. Stop it.

She didn’t die or anything. Hell. She lived, nearly 30 more years, my dudes!

And. You best believe.

We all did this. For like… 10-15 minutes. (when we knew she was all right, obviousy)


But there I was. In the basement. There wasn’t anyone in the house. But me. For hours.


This would become so prevelant that I actually delevoped a TV schedule for myself. Like… wake up. Watch. Nik Jr. Or whatever. Until that fucking face would shut up. Then… BOOM! Superfriends was on Cartoon Network! Aww… shit.. Now Scooby Doo is on.!

and somewhere along the way, Scooby Doo: Where Are You? became evile. Because. “ghosts,” “goblins,” “demons,” or whatever. Bruh. Obviously. Satanic Panic parents.



Somewheres between Minnesota and this point here. My sister had convinced my dad that X-Mean: The Animated Series and Mighty Morhin Power Rangers were evil. Partly becausde she found the shows (especially Power Rangers, I mean, who wouldn’t?) annoying. And partly because my Satanic Panic parents wouldn’t allow her to even watch The Smurfs. Because “OH NO! MAGIC IS SO VERY MUCH PREVELANT IN THAT SHOW! MAGIC IS EVIL!”

And now. Even today. My parents are all shocked to death that she’s, essentially, Pagan now.

NOT AT ALL RANDOM SIDENOTE: For my two older brothers? They couldn’t watch He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. He-Man was too evil because, he’d shout, “I have the power!” But… alas. Only God has the power. So. Whoops. WHOOSPIE!

Unless I’m mistaken… NOT this. At all. But… Basically this…? I dunno. Welly’d get it.

Bruh… There’s family photos floating out there taht are so white trashy, it’s hilarious. Like. My sister’s sitting there, in my parents’ room with a lit cigararette in her hand, getting her hair did by the random hookup my mom had found at her job taking care of… I mean… I think it’s sitill politically correct to saym old-aged dimentia/alzheimer’s patients…?Also, mty mom’s got a cigarette in her hand too. So.

I was the ring boy for this wedding. That happened. At this house.

“They’re about to cut the cake, Ryan!”

Stuffs. Things. Words.

Last thing. About the house itself.

You walk into the front door. You turn your head to the right. And there’s a beautiful fireplace there. Some… 10=12 feet away from you. That’s where my sister married Phillip. I was the ring boy. The pastopr, person… called her “Nole.” During the vows and shit. EVERYONE turned their face to him and gave him an evil eye… it was fucking perfect in that beautiful imperfection.

And I mean, that cursed moment from the pasot was basically more prophetioc than my dad has ever been right there tbh,,,

But whoops!


Avaoiding the inevitable.

That’s what I’ve been doing. This whole time.

Not because like… I dunno… I’m “not emotional blah~! I don’t wanna share feelings~1 I’ma mayon~!” You know? Nothing like that. Fuck . Like. Most anyone that ACTUALLY knows me, knows tat this shit happened. (FFS, with all of tyhis build up it’s just making it all worse ugh)

So. Fuck it.

I was abandoned. By my parents.

That’s the ripping the bandage off verbiage.

And now begins the hardest part of this whole rambling. This whole, “me,” thing.

Bruh… I’ve already probably admitted to crimes I’ve committed. There’s probably going to be more of that. But. Dude.

I swear to God.

Describing all of this? This is THE hardest part iof my life’s story.

Meanwhile… inside of the hall of my dumb ass mind…

I’m like. Dude.

On what fucking planet do you have any right to complain about anything? Yu fucking cunt, Ryan.

OH NO! Your parents had to go to work! FFS! You’re life’s ruined now! Live in the basement you fat fucking piece of shit!

…I mean.

This hall of my dumb ass mind isn’t wrong.

Especially considering, like, I have vivid memories of laying on my mom’s lap as she read the Indian in the Cupboard books to me. And like… hanging out with my dad in the car for hours and hours (I mean, not in one go or anything, even though it probably felt like it at the time… every time) as we waited for my mom to get off of work. Like,. On what fucking planet to I have a right to complaion? About… anything? OH NO! MY PARENTS, MOSTLY, LEFT ME ALONE!

But there I was. For a few years there. I mean. It started before. Like In the Mounting Eagles times. Being By myself.

I know I just mentioned home school and stuggs. But like. I have no idea how that all panned out anymore. Yes. My sister would teach me sometimes. So would my mom. But… I think I’d do a lot of it on my own…? Merhaps? I don’t knlw dude. I have no idea. But I’ll pick this back up later.

I know for a fact that there was so much of no one around that I’d have to go to Phillip’s construction worksites. Why? I dunno. But I did. My sister might have come along too. She probably did. That was a thing. A few times anyways…?

Merhaps… this all should mean I’d be WAY self-sufficient? I mean, that makes sense.

But instead…

I’m still just.. this emotional piece of nothingness.

Someone on Behance created this. It’s the best thing I found whilst searching that last sentence. This is awesome. Support this.

I guess it’s because I’ve forgiven? Forgotten? Am generally me…?

The things my parents did in my childhood (aside from the God stuffs) really don’t bother me anymore, these days. Also…

BREAKING NEWS: I’m no longer an angsty teebager~!

Crazy shit, right?

Yet I know. For a fact. That there’s… SOMETHING. As an eight-year-old that pulled me to the comfort of the basement. When my sister married Phillip. Because I wanted none% of what was happening there. Essentially. I mean… I’m not saying I predicted my sister’s inevitable divorce. Obviously. I’m just saying The whole thing was uncomfortable. And I realized at eight-years-0-ld that I’m the stereotypical, memey millennial that doesn’t like group settings?

I don’t know.

I don’t know what any of this is./

It’s the hardest portion of my life. Apparently.

Jesus Christ, dude. Get over your fat fucking self, right?

“You were abused,” I said, “I was abandoned.”

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