Do You Want Me (Dead?)

Keeping quiet as a kid is always hard.
For me it was even harder.
All my life I wanted to be something I'm not, something I was never meant to be. My very christian parents were constantly silencing me whenever I even muttered a word about my secret wish. To them, it was speaking of the devil in a worshipful way. That I should have the dream of becoming a princess or a pop star. When adults asked other little children they would murmur of astronauts or fairies, but that wasn't what I wanted to be at all. When they asked I told them with honesty what was my dream.
I wanted to be a witch.
The adults, who were often times regular church go-ers, stared at me the priest's daughter with their mouths hung open. When my mother found out later she would scold me for embarrassing her and speaking such blasphemy. She'd preach to me how much more responsible my sisters were than me, occasionally she'd slap me, but then she would send me to dinner without supper. My father would take me to the church later to make me kneel before a statue of Christ being crucified. He'd tell me to pray even beg for forgiveness from the lord for my horrible thoughts. My "untrue" thoughts. For a long time they believed I possessed the taint of evil placed on me by the devil. When I think back on it, it sounds pretty hilarious to me because all along there was never anything wrong with me.
At the time though, all my family were convinced I was the problem. I was still the problem even when my sister got knocked up, and my other one came out of the closet. The taint of evil, that surrounded me apparently infected my sisters. I was treated like a desease. Every movement I made was judged, every word I spoke was considered treason of god, and every thought that ran through my head was considered demonic. It was at age fifthteen I started having delusions, of people being there who really weren't. The local doctor diagnosed me as a schitzophrenic and I was seeing a shrink for a week before being sent to an insane asylum. Of course, when I'd gone seven months without seeing a thing my parents locked me up back in their house. It's a wonder I grew up as sane as I am, and trust me I'm not that sane.
Perhaps if my parents were kinder to me, perhaps if they had tried to understand me, I wouldn't have run away to live with my homosexual sister. Maybe then I would have never found out what I did in my new home. All the secrets I'd uncovered would still be intact and hidden from the little town of Mystic Falls. I wouldn't have met them or him...
But I couldn't think that now. I was handing myself over as bait to a vampire and all that I could think of was that inviting smile I'd never see again.