"I want to know where I come from." I quietly say as everyone at the dinner table just keeps eating, not acknowledging what I just said. "Is anyone going to answer me?"

"That's great dear, but you don't want to know that, you remember your old friend Clayton right? Well after he found his birth parents his home life fell apart and from what his mother told me about it, he's not taking it very well. We'll discuss this another time sweetie so can you just drop it." My mom says, "I don't want that to happen to you because we care." Like she will ever understand what I am going through, how I feel every day looking at the family of familiar strangers I have known since the day I was born and brought into this family. Feeling empty inside without anything to ground to is crushing to say the least and no one in this family understands what that is like. Sure I am fine on the outside, I go through the motions but that is just it, they are just motions. Like a mime trapped inside the invisible box or pulling the rope I am faking everything that I am doing especially with family. I keep asking these questions hoping for an answer or something but it seems like I am trapped in a cage with no way out and the key is just out of my reach taunting me to grab it, every time I ask those questions of 'where do I come from', 'who am I', or when the doctors ask about any medical history, I have no clue on what I should say because I don't know anything about my birth family's medical history.

I get out of my thousand yard stare as I shake my head, getting up from the table with plate in hand and utensils in the glass I walk over to the sink and gently set everything down. "I'll be in my room." I say with a defeated sigh, I walk over to the fridge and grab a bottle of cola then walk up the stairs. Those same tired lines play in my head all the time, "you don't want to know that sweetie, they gave you up so we could start a family.", "you're our child not theirs so stop being difficult." Its those same old lines that are driving me to want to know more about who I am and where I come from, to know more about those people are that gave me up when I was born and why they gave me up.

I can't take this anymore, something has to give and I should know where I come from that is a basic right. I wish none of these things ever happened to me, being adopted, how I am completely different from everyone else, I don't even look like them. The hardest part about all this is how I know deep down this isn't where I am meant to be. I open the door to my room and throw the bottle of cola on my bed, looking around for anything out of place while gently closing the door behind me. As I walk over to the closet and opening the slider finding my box of random stuff in the corner that is overflowing with CD's and rolled up posters sticking out at odd angles. Digging to the bottom and throwing handfuls of CD cases out of the way I find what I am looking for, Black Bart's Private Stock.

The amber liquid swirls around as I walk over to my nightstand where I have multiple water cups stacked up over weeks of neglect. "Sweet amber liquid, take my mind away form these thoughts I have and make me numb." I say to no one while I pour out a good portion into a small plastic cup. I corked the bottle and put it under my bed for a later time, getting back up with a slight grunt and a few pops from my knees, I grab the cola laying at my pillows. Opening the cap with a quick twist hearing the cracks of the safety seal and the pressure release of the Co2 escaping, that rich caramel and vanilla smell greats my senses as I pour the dark soda in the cup a quarter filled with rum. Mixing it with my finger to get the two liquids to combine, I take a drink. "Oh, by the gods that is good." I say with a relaxing sigh.

Walking over to my guitar stand I pick up my guitar, "I need to clean you soon and get new strings." I say to myself while laying the strap over my left shoulder, finding the cable leading to my amp I plug it into my guitar. "I also need to fix that jack. So many things I need to do and no time to do them." I flip the on switch letting the tubes warm up before I flip the standby switch and start playing. I pick up my song book that is worn out on the edges from constant use, I flip to the marked page and start writing where I left off a few days ago. "Lets run through this and see if I need to make any changes." I say to myself, "2...3...4...and." I count in before playing.

*Been beaten so low down I'm about to cry
yea been beaten down so low I'm lookin for the day I die.*

Singing while the rhythmic strum of sound coming form my amp sooths my mind and transports me to another realm, here I am in control. Nothing can bother me while I am zoned out doing what I love. It's like I am completely zen right now.

"Turn that GUITAR down. " My dad yells up form the Livingroom but I keep singing not hearing him in my own little world outside of reality.

*I keep tryin' to find my place but not knowin' where to start,
well I've been tryin' to find my place in life and its tearing me apart
seems like I fell behind right form the start.*

Not hearing the thudding footsteps coming up the stairs, my door flies open and I look up at my dad, red in the face and about to blow a gasket. "What have I told you boy! Turn that guitar down or I am going to use that as scrap firewood." I look at him with a blank expression and just wait for him to calm down and not have an aneurism.

"First off its not that loud and second, I am trying to write a song here for the battle of the bands at school I am gonna be preforming and I need to get this done." I tell my dad as if I am explaining things to my 5 year old cousin.

"I don't give a fuck if you are playing at the Canterlot Colosseum, you are in my house and you will abide by my rules now give me that guitar because it is going in the scrap pile." Dad says in a more calm voice but that didn't tone down his harsh attitude.

"You can pry this guitar from my cold dead hands if you want it that badly, I need to practice but apparently that isn't gonna happen now because I am not letting go of this guitar." I tell him as I turn my amp off and unplug the cable from the jack on my guitar, "now if you would just go back downstairs and go watch whatever you were watching on the tv and leave me the fuck alone that would be great I have a long day tomorrow and need to sleep." My dad gives me this murderous glare and if looks could kill I'd be dead at least ten times over already, he walks out of my room as I stare daggers in the back of his head. "Fuck off old man, you never did support me in my music anyways. I say under my breath as my door closed. Downing the rest of the rum cola I made, I reach under the bed grabbing my bottle of rum and pour another drink.

Author's Note

Hello everyone that has read this story, I am getting back into writing on this site again. I am looking to improve my writing and feedback is very much appreciated. Comments that are toxic to other commenters or myself will be deleted.

Edits made to the chapter and proof reading done by the amazing DarkChocolate, check out his stories if you want.

I will try and post new chapters biweekly depending on how much work drains me.