Growing up as a kid with divorced parents wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t uncommon either. I later learned in my life that other kids’ parents didn’t like each other either. In fact, were sometimes in completely worse situations. I discovered always that there’s always someone who has it worse than you. But I regularly ask myself, don’t my own problems matter too? I’m not saying that my issues are more important than others, but my issues are mine, and that’s important to me.
My parents loved me, yet they didn’t love each other and I didn’t get that. It was weird for me to go over to friend’s houses and see their parents together and in love. It wasn’t normal to me. My parent’s divorce sculpted a part of who I was. It changed me forever. The thing is, I wouldn’t change a second. The worst part of the divorce was the stories. I did find myself getting caught in between and sometimes feeling like I was a rope in a tug of war, even when it might not have always been that way. I was pulling myself when my parents weren’t. It was part of my nature now. I had to find a way to escape.
My imagination was the key to my development. My parents did the best they could to help me no matter how bad things got. I rode in the car nearly thousands of times to and from West Virginia and Delaware for nearly 10 years straight. Every other weekend. Up and back. The road kept my mind busy and I created worlds before my eyes. I played movies for myself always. I would let myself get distracted just so I could slip away. The divorce itself was so black and white and became more and more obsessed with the idea of things being double sided. I developed an outlook on life throughout my childhood. A way to survive. As I grew older I started to create art because I wanted the ideas in my head to become a reality. My thought patterns evolved from conflict to creation. 
So I push on to this day to create and express those thoughts and feelings, and to some day fully develop the ideas and worlds that