Status: It's a going.
Secrets
012
When I was younger I lost the will to talk to my parents anymore. They would fight in front of me and I would calmly sit there and watch. Not once did I scream for them to stop. When they tried to kill each other, I sat by and watched- they knew I was watching too- and never did I scream at them to stop. When my dad let my dog go and say he hopes the ‘mutt’ gets run over, that was the first time I screamed. I told him to go get my dog, I told him I hated him, and then my dog returned… no thanks to my father. For years this continued, until my father moved out when I was in the second year of my middle school (8th grade). I witnessed all the yelling and attempts at physical abuse the whole time though. My father yelled at me and called me worthless trash and a whore. Not once did I tell him to stop. Not once did I open my mouth to protest. He yelled in my face ‘I’m not your real father! Your real dad died of AIDs!’ I got angry at that and threw his father’s bible out the door and told him that I didn’t care about it when he yelled at me. I told him what he said didn’t matter to me since I wasn’t his child. DNA proves I AM his child though.
Through all of the cop visits, attempts of murder, insults, and just yelling, I only used my voice twice. I never once let those images come to light. I only let two people know what happened, and even still those things the people know are minor. I play off that I’m fine and that everything is okay since my father moved out, but truth is… I’m not fine. Those events I witnessed messed me up. I think about them more often than I should. And when I do I just feel like finding something to release the thoughts, something that hurts me. I just realized that I should’ve spoken up. I should’ve said something to make them realize they were fucking up my mental sanity. They were making me ill and I never told them that they were destroying what hope I had left for a beautiful world. Now, I can’t seem to tell people when I’m breaking, when I need help. I feel like that child who lost her voice again when I’m near the edge. To test how much people care, I’ll be one step from falling into my depression again and say ‘I’m fine, I promise.’ So far… no one’s been able to tell that I’m not fine… I wish someone would though because I can’t seem to verbally tell them what’s actually wrong with me.
Through all of the cop visits, attempts of murder, insults, and just yelling, I only used my voice twice. I never once let those images come to light. I only let two people know what happened, and even still those things the people know are minor. I play off that I’m fine and that everything is okay since my father moved out, but truth is… I’m not fine. Those events I witnessed messed me up. I think about them more often than I should. And when I do I just feel like finding something to release the thoughts, something that hurts me. I just realized that I should’ve spoken up. I should’ve said something to make them realize they were fucking up my mental sanity. They were making me ill and I never told them that they were destroying what hope I had left for a beautiful world. Now, I can’t seem to tell people when I’m breaking, when I need help. I feel like that child who lost her voice again when I’m near the edge. To test how much people care, I’ll be one step from falling into my depression again and say ‘I’m fine, I promise.’ So far… no one’s been able to tell that I’m not fine… I wish someone would though because I can’t seem to verbally tell them what’s actually wrong with me.