Diaries of a Nine-year Old

I took in one deep breath to let out one final scream; I didn’t care if he was going to kill me. I felt the breath escape out of me as I tugged onto what felt like a pillow. The echo disappeared. Everything disappeared but me, my tears and that voice which haunted me. It echoed still—not around me, but inside of me—as I hugged my legs close to me and leaned my head on my knees rocking myself back and forth. I looked for calmness, I looked for peace, but I didn’t know what they are.

I was on my bed for what felt like hours lying there on my side with my legs curled up to my chest. Nothing changed, but my dark, naked room that seemed to start spinning. An opened box that said: "Don’t open!!!" on the cover, a pink notebook with childish drawings all over it, and a hundred pictures of what used to be my family where sprawled on the white bed-sheets all around me.

I looked at every single one of them knowing how much pain each would put me through. I looked at them so many times till I made sure I looked at all of them.

It was so hard for me to reach to it, I couldn’t look at it, the pain revolved around it was too much for me to handle, but I'd avoided it for too long. I forced myself to reach to it slowly with my shaking fingers, a painful brain-storm formed in my head of the boy sobbing in my dream, the man moaning on top of me, and that manipulative, sadistic voice that wouldn’t seize to haunt me before I managed to wrap my scrawny, pale fingers around that notebook.
I remembered drawing those flowers. I remembered carving Mimi in Big, colorful, capital letters in between those flowers. I remembered the place I drew them. I even remembered the white, puffy-shouldered, short dress that I was wearing. I started writing about the biggest burden of my life in a pink colorful notebook. I was innocent. I was playful. I was happy. I was clueless. I was nine-years old.

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1st of May, 1992

Dear Diary,

Mom was braiding my hair today in her room, but Dad started yelling because he was hungry and Mom didn’t have dinner ready yet. Then Mom started yelling back, she was angry I could tell because she started pulling my hair hard and it hurt. I kept telling her to stop but she was yelling too loud to hear me so I screamed… she yelled at me for screaming then she pushed me out the door and went to the kitchen. Mom and Dad were fighting for a while then Dad came out of the kitchen and saw my face, he asked me what was wrong so I told him what happened and asked him why he and Mom keep fighting. He didn’t answer me, he held my hair and told me it's very pretty and then he kissed my cheek and told me to smile so I didn’t ruin how pretty I looked. I like Dad… he's so much nicer than Mom. He's not my real Dad. Mom says my real Dad is in heaven, he's dead, but I never knew him, so I love this Dad just as much. He's out now, Mom didn’t come out of the kitchen, and I think she's dizzy again. That’s what Dad calls her when she's drunk. I can hear her crying. I want to go hug her but I know she'll yell at me.

Dad said he's gonna take me out for ice cream today. I know he just wants to avoid Mom and keep her from taking it out on me. I'm wearing my white puffy-shouldered, short dress because it's his favorite. He calls me Snow White when I wear it, and I always get a treat for it. I have to go now, but I'll write again soon.

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I was sitting up in bed now, my legs bent to my side. The notebook resting in my lap, one hand covered my prickling red nose and quivering lips, the other rested on the notebook as I traced the page covered with hearts and other childish drawings with my trembling fingers.

"Mimi... Sweetheart… Mimi…" The voice came in a distant echo.

I shuddered, I took a deep breath, I let it out then bit on my lips, I challenged it with my gaze, and I flipped the page…