You don’t care that the first time I got molested I was only 15… you don’t care that even after 2 years I’m still contemplating whether or not my daughter was conceived out of rape. You wouldn’t care if I told you how broken the home inside that gorgeous house was. Because to you, I’m nothing more than a spoiled little rich girl.
As we all know, it’s colder than the heart of Satan outside. Where I live it’s been snowing and slick. The last couple days I’ve been sick with the flu and my insides have been inside-out. To top things off? I finally start being productive, just to be shot down by my mother. She gets home and immediately comes up to my room to start complaining. During the warmer months I was training my horse, we have 7 and a pony, but stopped because the weather was too harsh and I knew I could start again next time it’s about freezing. I’m busy with work and school, so I’d assume my stay at home mother would be able to feed the animals like she had been doing before. Well, apparently not, apparently she wants to get rid of ALL of our horses, dogs, and the pony. Those animals are my babies, my dogs I’ve had since a young age. Two their ages, one mine, my best friend as a child and now. The same pets that keep me off drugs and keep me home at night. Something to look forward to.
When something small is enough to push you past your limits into the realm of sadness. The ones where you lose all your battles in one short bitter moment. Furthermore, you’re filled with guilt, sadness, pain, and a sprinkle of indescribable anger. Swearing that your hearts been broken one more time reminding you of your fear to love. You know, the ones where you want to curl up in a cave with a small blade that’ll help you paint it red. Red, such a beautiful color, the one you love so much because as sick as it is, it was the only one there when you lacked comfort. Once again, you feel a craving to do impulsive things knowing you’ll regret them in the morning. Pain, pain, go away, or turn to vodka and wash this grief away.
Recently, I was asked if I take the road most people take or one of my own. It’s been on my mind consistently soon the hours spent thinking about it turned to days. I’ve come to conclusion! I’ve never been on everyone else’s road. Not since grade school anyways. By the time I was about 10 years old I already knew pain, that was when my parents got divorced. I was happy about the divorce, but the results were enough to scar anyone who would’ve been in my shoes. My reason for being happy was because I thought the fighting would finally stop, words can not explain how wrong I was. In fact, it was just a new beginning to it. It was the start of me seeing things I wish I hadn’t, like getting into a truck with my drunk father who acted like he was going run over my injured mother. It was the start of the countless days where I waited for someone who never came. I was at my dads while he was either working or at the bar. So, eventually, my mother started picking me up from the time I woke up til about 8 at night. My father never knew, when he did know he’d call me to curse me out and demand that I can home. One night, when I was 12 years old and living with my mother, my father asked me to come stay the night. Reluctantly, I agreed. To my dismay, I’d been there alone since the morning and around 10 at night I decided to just go home. He was out drinking, and I knew it. Since then, he has cleaned up his act because he couldn’t stand knowing that his own child hated him. We have a decent relationship now. My mother is overall a good mom, but constantly reminds me “you’re why I’m not skinny” or “your siblings are so good at ___” but when she brags about me? It’s about things that are untrue. Ouch. When I was 15, there was this guy… At first I didn’t like him, he wasn’t attractive and was kind of weird. Eventually, he started telling me things that made me feel special even if I wasn’t the only girl he was telling them to (the other was my so-called-best-friend) this led to me wanting find common interests with him, soon enough, I did like him. Soon enough, I won. He was all mine. I wish I could take that decision back, he was horrible towards me! Not only did he emotionally abuse me, but he molested me. Although, I was too in “love” to do anything about it.
to be continued… (coming up: my history with suicide, my obsession, and who/how I am now)
And you’re sitting here yelling at me about how bad of a person I am and how much you wish you didn’t have kids. Happy fucking valentines day to you too. It’s no wonder I want out so badly.
Those nights when thoughts get trapped inside your head again. The ones that broke your heart so many times over. The sinister laugh, that nobody knew was sinister but you. The regret, so deep that it both holds you back while pushing you to move forwards. The people, that don’t even recall the things they did to you. That ex, who didn’t teach you how to love, but how deprived you once were of it. The one who molested you and tore apart the little confidence you had, the one that made you cut yourself but scared you too much to admit where the cuts were really coming from. Looking back, I smile and laugh about the good of what’s past, but I’ve learned so many things that make me who I am. Looking back, I’m that weird kid who turned gorgeous. Looking back, I’m the kid who was envied by her friends, her clueless friends.