Diaries of a Nine-year Old

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…

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2nd of May, 1992

Dear Diary,

I'm worried about Mom; Dad didn’t take me home last night. We went out for ice cream then he rented Cinderella for me and he said he didn’t want to go home because Mom is still upset, so he paid for a motel room. We watched Cinderella together; Dad was hugging me all night. I asked him if he still loved Mom. He said he does, they're just having some problems. He promised he'll always love me no matter what. Then he asked me to smile, but I just felt too sad, so he started tickling me till I burst out laughing. He looked happy so he stopped, then he kissed me on the mouth. It felt weird, but nice; my stomach tickled from the inside. He stopped fast and got up. He looked scared. I asked him if he was ok but he didn’t answer. I tried to hug him but he got up and left. He came back after three hours and he was dizzy. I was angry because he didn’t finish watching Cinderella with me so I yelled at him, but he sat down on the bed and started crying. I've never seen my Dad cry. I wanted to cry too. I stood in front of him, grabbed his face, and asked him what was wrong. He didn’t answer me. I asked him what would make him feel better; he asked me if I wanted to play a nice game. I said yes, and I made him feel better. Dad's taking me home now so I have to go. I'll write again soon. ♥♥♥

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I was sobbing on the edge of the bed; my tears smudged some of the hearts in the notebook. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not realized?

I slid myself off the bed and onto the ground; I felt myself too heavy to be that far off it. With my hand pressing on my forehead, and the notebook trapped between my knees and my chest I finally gather up the courage to turn another page…

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23rd of September, 1994

Dear Diary,

I haven’t written to you in a long time; it's been two-years and a half. Mom's been getting too dizzy lately. I should stop saying dizzy. It's like I'm lying to myself to make what she's doing sound not as bad as it is. She and Dad won't stop fighting, I'm pretty sure he hates her now, but that’s OK, because she doesn’t care about making anyone happy, I do. I feel like I have to do what she's failing at doing, or our family will fall apart. My Dad knows how to keep a promise unlike her. He promised to always love me and he keeps it still. I promised I'll always be there to make him happy too, and I still am. Dad said Mom would get mad if she knew, so we're not supposed to tell her. I got my period for the first time last week. I told Dad and he said I'm a grown up woman now. I asked him what he meant, and he said it means that he can make me happy now too. Oh for the love of god. Mom passed out again, and something broke. I have to go clean up after her again before Dad gets upset. I'll try to write again soon.

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I remembered that same day.

"You're a grown up woman. I can make you happy too now, Sweetie."

"Stop..." I sobbed quietly.

"It'll hurt at first, I promise I'll be gentle, but you'll have to be quiet, ok sweetheart?"

"Please…" I hit both sides of my head with the base of my palms, my fingers curled to the inside.

"You're my little angel; I promise I wouldn't hurt you."

"I believed you, you liar…" I surrendered to the floor. "Why?" I whispered, "Why…" I fell into numbness, the floor becoming my only comfort ….