Status: Being Revised. Thoughts and Opinions are always welcomed
Alone
Alone
When I was little there was no limit to the love that my parents showered me with. The year I turned 8 everything changed though.
We were driving home from my grandparents home, on my fathers side, my mother's side of the family had all but died and disappeared years ago. I was exhausted from the long day we had had. I was almost asleep when the car came to an abrupt halt and my mother and father were getting out of the car screaming. I climbed out of my seat and looked behind us to see the smoke and flames coming from my grandparents house. My parents did everything they could to help, they called the police, they ran to the closest neighbors house for help, they threw whatever water they could find on the fire.
You could hear the screams of agony coming from grandparents as they were burned alive. They drove my father crazy; he tried running inside the house to get to them, but the neighbor man held him back, it was too dangerous. By the time the fire department got there it was too late. The fire had consumed everyone and everything.
That day we not only lost the only family we had but we also lost my father. After the fire he was never the same, he was consumed with nightmares of his parents burning that he never slept. Soon drugs and alcohol were the only things that could help him forget, forget everything.
When we lost him it wasn't long before my mother followed suit, she had had a hard life growing up and my father was everything to her. He had rescued her from an abused life and her losing the only rock she ever had was too much on her. The love of her life was taken from her and she did the only thing she could think of to be close to him. She became like him, drugs and alcohol were her best friends, they brought her closer to the man she loved. They were both lost together in a world numbness.
I was 13 when they went into the darkness. I never blamed them for anything though; the drugs, the alcohol, the abuse. In my mind this was what was to be expected. They had nothing else, I had nothing else. If this was the only way I was going to be able to keep them, then I wasn't going to complain. I needed my family.
Because of everything that went on in my home life I always had to wear clothes that would cover every inch of my body, or someone would see the scars and take away the only family I had. My face was always safe though, my father would always say it reminded him of his mother and he could never hurt her. Cover my face though and I was nobody to them. It no longer registered that I was their daughter but they were my parents; I loved my parents.
When I turned 15 my parents died by suicide. They were found side by side holding hands at the bottom of an abandoned warehouse. They were so high on whatever drugs they had in their system, the doctor said they probably didn't feel much pain; they died on impact. Knowing that they had a painless end was my only comfort with their death.
As soon as the state got their hands on me I was thrown into an orphanage in Virginia. Because of my older age I never had a good chance of being adopted and I always got into a lot of trouble. Of course everyone blamed my behavioral problems on my past. Maybe they were right, I had no idea why I did the things I did. I was sad. I was angry. I was lost. I had to let it out somehow and crying was never enough. I stopped talking. I no longer had the energy to speak any longer.
The year I turned 18 would have been the year I got out of the orphanage and sent out on my own, instead due to my circumstances they sent me to a school. A program they had come up with a couple years ago for troubled youths like myself. It was supposed to help me be better, learn more and get ready for the real world. Prepare me for what I was to face once I was really on my own. Arine Academy was everyone's last hope for me, because honestly they all new once I was left out on my own I wouldn't make it.
We were driving home from my grandparents home, on my fathers side, my mother's side of the family had all but died and disappeared years ago. I was exhausted from the long day we had had. I was almost asleep when the car came to an abrupt halt and my mother and father were getting out of the car screaming. I climbed out of my seat and looked behind us to see the smoke and flames coming from my grandparents house. My parents did everything they could to help, they called the police, they ran to the closest neighbors house for help, they threw whatever water they could find on the fire.
You could hear the screams of agony coming from grandparents as they were burned alive. They drove my father crazy; he tried running inside the house to get to them, but the neighbor man held him back, it was too dangerous. By the time the fire department got there it was too late. The fire had consumed everyone and everything.
That day we not only lost the only family we had but we also lost my father. After the fire he was never the same, he was consumed with nightmares of his parents burning that he never slept. Soon drugs and alcohol were the only things that could help him forget, forget everything.
When we lost him it wasn't long before my mother followed suit, she had had a hard life growing up and my father was everything to her. He had rescued her from an abused life and her losing the only rock she ever had was too much on her. The love of her life was taken from her and she did the only thing she could think of to be close to him. She became like him, drugs and alcohol were her best friends, they brought her closer to the man she loved. They were both lost together in a world numbness.
I was 13 when they went into the darkness. I never blamed them for anything though; the drugs, the alcohol, the abuse. In my mind this was what was to be expected. They had nothing else, I had nothing else. If this was the only way I was going to be able to keep them, then I wasn't going to complain. I needed my family.
Because of everything that went on in my home life I always had to wear clothes that would cover every inch of my body, or someone would see the scars and take away the only family I had. My face was always safe though, my father would always say it reminded him of his mother and he could never hurt her. Cover my face though and I was nobody to them. It no longer registered that I was their daughter but they were my parents; I loved my parents.
When I turned 15 my parents died by suicide. They were found side by side holding hands at the bottom of an abandoned warehouse. They were so high on whatever drugs they had in their system, the doctor said they probably didn't feel much pain; they died on impact. Knowing that they had a painless end was my only comfort with their death.
As soon as the state got their hands on me I was thrown into an orphanage in Virginia. Because of my older age I never had a good chance of being adopted and I always got into a lot of trouble. Of course everyone blamed my behavioral problems on my past. Maybe they were right, I had no idea why I did the things I did. I was sad. I was angry. I was lost. I had to let it out somehow and crying was never enough. I stopped talking. I no longer had the energy to speak any longer.
The year I turned 18 would have been the year I got out of the orphanage and sent out on my own, instead due to my circumstances they sent me to a school. A program they had come up with a couple years ago for troubled youths like myself. It was supposed to help me be better, learn more and get ready for the real world. Prepare me for what I was to face once I was really on my own. Arine Academy was everyone's last hope for me, because honestly they all new once I was left out on my own I wouldn't make it.