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Posted July 27th 2011 at 04:07 PM by Random_Girl_26
Why? Was I not worth it? Was I just something to be used? Did my childhood mean nothing to anyone? Why didn’t I get a childhood? I don’t even know what it would have looked like. I never had anything like it, so how can I even imagine? What was wrong with me? If they didn’t want children, why did they even try? They brought me into this world to be used, abused and abandoned. All these old stories that they think are meaningless or amusing; to me they’re signs that they should have seen, but missed. If they had seen the signs, maybe ..., maybe it wouldn’t have happened, or would have been stopped at some point.
I remember I had so much love and affection to give. I saw other people, and that’s what they did. I felt better when I was helping people; I felt like a normal human being. But then, I went home and tried to forget everything else, because it made it hurt that much more, knowing that not everyone, not every family was like mine. Some families loved each other; protected each other, but not mine. In my family, you need to hide until morning, or you’ll get hurt. Occasionally, you’ll get hurt anyway, but the aim was to try not to, most days. It was my version of warfare. I want to scream. I wanted to scream, but then I would be hit again. It was easier to just take it, admit that you’re a bad person, apologise, take the beating, and then cry yourself to sleep. The next day, you go to school and don’t ever talk about it, just spend the day hoping that something will happen so that you can’t go home that night, or ever again. But eventually, you have to go home, or she’ll find you and hurt you even more; make you hate yourself because all of it is your fault; you should have died at birth.
There was no way out. You know you can’t take it much longer. You can’t run, she’ll find you and you have nowhere to run to. You can’t tell anyone, because you deserve it, no one is going to make it stop. The only thing you can do is not exist. Just die. Go to the top drawer in the kitchen, get a sharp knife and cut open your vein – bleed to death, then she can never hurt you again. Go through the medicine tray, grab lots of random pills, take them all at once, go to sleep and never wake up – she’ll never hit you again, she’ll never call you a mole again, she’ll never tell you to stop crying again – Dad won’t be able to just stand by watching you get beaten for no damn reason, because you’ll be dead, in oblivion where you’re safe.
I remember I had so much love and affection to give. I saw other people, and that’s what they did. I felt better when I was helping people; I felt like a normal human being. But then, I went home and tried to forget everything else, because it made it hurt that much more, knowing that not everyone, not every family was like mine. Some families loved each other; protected each other, but not mine. In my family, you need to hide until morning, or you’ll get hurt. Occasionally, you’ll get hurt anyway, but the aim was to try not to, most days. It was my version of warfare. I want to scream. I wanted to scream, but then I would be hit again. It was easier to just take it, admit that you’re a bad person, apologise, take the beating, and then cry yourself to sleep. The next day, you go to school and don’t ever talk about it, just spend the day hoping that something will happen so that you can’t go home that night, or ever again. But eventually, you have to go home, or she’ll find you and hurt you even more; make you hate yourself because all of it is your fault; you should have died at birth.
There was no way out. You know you can’t take it much longer. You can’t run, she’ll find you and you have nowhere to run to. You can’t tell anyone, because you deserve it, no one is going to make it stop. The only thing you can do is not exist. Just die. Go to the top drawer in the kitchen, get a sharp knife and cut open your vein – bleed to death, then she can never hurt you again. Go through the medicine tray, grab lots of random pills, take them all at once, go to sleep and never wake up – she’ll never hit you again, she’ll never call you a mole again, she’ll never tell you to stop crying again – Dad won’t be able to just stand by watching you get beaten for no damn reason, because you’ll be dead, in oblivion where you’re safe.
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