One

Despite how often it occurred, constantly moving from house wasn't one of my hobbies. People change, bit places don't, not really, and that was one of the only things keeping my sanity intact enough to function. It was reassuring, having familiar surroundings, familiar faces. Without that I felt somehow disconnected from other people, lost even. I couldn't allow myself to get lost in thought either, at the moment. Being a quiet guy, it left me plenty of time to get lost in thought. In fact, I hadn't uttered a word since my father left. That was years ago now, but not having a father figure to look up to hit me hard. Eventually the shock wore off, but I was so used to holding my tongue that I decided I would be better off that way. My mother would occasionally take the time to worry about me, once even going through the struggle of taking me to a therapist in hopes of making me speak again. All either of us got from that was a heavy blow to our self-esteem, and even more bills to pay. Selectively mute was my "diagnosis" and my mother stuck to those words. She would often explain it wearily to my apathetic teachers during conferences and such.