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What you read from me will be true, i will not lie or leave out details, this is my past,my present and my hopes for the future. I will tell you what has happened to me and what i wish my life would become. This blog if anyone actually reads it, is what i havent spoken aloud. It will be dark and raw and i hope whoever you are, you bear with me as best you can.
Entry #1- Age 7
When i was 7 i witnessed just how much damage loving someone could do to you. It made you forget just how dangerous people can actually be when provoked or angry. When you love someone your defences are dropped, its not like the first time you meet someone new, you dont have that weariness about you. You dont question their actions, or take in their harsh words because you know they love you and loving someone makes you blind to their ways. I suppose that's why my mother stayed with my father the first time he hit her. I cant say exactly what day it was or what month but i can tell you it was at night. My cousin was over for a sleepover, both of us sharing a single bed and driving each other crazy, gripping the covers and pulling, claiming the other had too much and was stealing it. It was late at night way past our bed times but as youths we didnt care, we lived for the thrill of knowing that we were up and awake and that my parents didnt. It was in those fleeting moments of youthfulness that i managed to grasp onto in my upbringing that i heard the first blood curling scream or plea i suppose. Ill never forget it. My name half shrieked,half sobbed. Loud enough to make 7 year old me freeze and for a moment i couldnt place it. What had let out that sound of utter despair? Was it the witch my mother always told me would try and eat me if i wasnt asleep by 12 finally coming to get me? Perhaps i just imagined it? I think at that age some part of me was hoping it was just a figment of my imagination, that if i imagined it, it would just go away again. I didn't want to believe there was anything bad in the world, no. Not in the world but in my home. I didnt want to face reality i was happy living in my fantasies. But like all fantasies it became shattered. The scream came again but this time included my cousins name too. This time i knew for certain it wasnt some gimmick and it wasnt a witch come to eat me, the voice was too familiar. When i first saw the reason for that cry i wasnt actually quite sure what i was witnessing, my father was braced over my mother on the brown couch in the equally brown living room. His arm some part of my mind recalls was in the air, poised for another strike. My mother was curled up under him, pinned by his weight, wailing. Still, i didnt know what was happening, at first i believed it was a game? Or maybe a punishment like we used to get when we were being bold. Dad used to catch us as we ran for the downstairs bathroom (the only door with a lock) and hit us for being bold. I may not have any visable scars but i do remember the sting of his hand on my ass and not being able to sit down for days. I scurried around the couch, my cousin hot on my heels and went straight for his knees. He didn't like his knees being touched, too many problems i learned. My foolish attempt didn't work though and once again i didnt understand. The knees always worked? Always. It was the only weakness i knew he had and it didnt work. my mother either seeing or feeling my failure called out for my other siblings, all older than me. 2 sisters and 1 brother. Everything after this was a blur, all i remember was my father pausing for a second some humanity returning, uttering the words 'sorry' to my still crying mother even as he grasped her arms stopping her from defending herself, then her screaming back "you asshole!" As his brief humanity fled from hearing those words and he hit her again. When i look back on that night i come to relise i learned 2 lessons. One ) when men say they are sorry they never truely mean it and two) My mother is a coward. Does that make me a bad daughter? For calling her that? For realising that had she left him we might have been spared our fathers overly affectionate love and even more dangerous temper?. It wasn't just the night that started the destruction of my innocence but the night i realised id do whatever it takes not to become my mother.
- A lost soul
(Thoughts and comments are welcome if you read it)
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I would have fucking run away, thats as good of a reasons any to fucking flee.
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