Acura Saint has always felt like she was damaged, through all the things she's been through and all the trauma she tries to keep locked away. Falling in love is the last thing she wants to think about.
She can't love another when she can't stand to...
When you're five your life is so innocent, you don't know anything about life. Things are perfect in your eyes, you don't know what sex is. Kissing is disgusting, we didn't judge each other. We didn't care about what we wore if we matched if our shoes were dirty.
We were kids, and we didn't cherish it because we thought when we got older it was just as fun. You got to be a 'grown-up', you could drive and have boyfriends. We thought when we got older it got easier, but it just got harder, and harder. So hard that 9 out of 10 times of the day, you fantasized about walking into on-coming traffic and ending it all.
But everyone's life is different. Everyone has their own trauma, it starts sometime in your life. And for me, it started when I was 5, the first time my innocence was taken from me. I started to see the world differently.
Sure that moment changed me forever, at times as I grew older I tried to forget about it. I created distractions for myself, and over time I did forget about it. Until it started, the constant sadness, the anxiety, the fear, insomnia, the voices, the thoughts.
I got lost in my own world and was forced to pull myself out if I wanted to live. I saw the world differently that Saturday afternoon, sitting in the room my sister and I use to share. White walls decorated with posters, our Princess in the Frog comforters, some cartoon playing on the tv. The sound of our parents arguing distracted me from the show on the tv, which is why I probably don't remember what was playing. I looked at my sister from across the room and went over to her.
All parents argue it's normal and to me now. I feel like it shouldn't have been a normal thing to me at the age of 5. At some point, each of them ended up in my and my sister's room. Physically fighting on my bed, causing it to break. Curse words bouncing off of the wall as my sister held me, us sitting in the corner.
Me crying as my sister yelled at them to stop. The two adults broke apart from each other and moments later the police arrived.
My father being handcuffed and taken away in a police car, a police officer sitting in front of my sister and I. Asking if we were hurt if my father had ever done something like this before. Me just crying because I was confused as to why my father was gone.
I don't remember how long he was gone, but now my mother tells my sister, and if a man ever cheats on you or puts his hands on you to walk away. A question I've always wanted to ask her is why she never walked away.
To this day, why did she let him back into our home? And let these awful things happen to me, I was too young to understand. And the worse part is I can barely remember and it's so scary. Walking around the house, though it's a new house we brought all of that trama with us.
When it starts it doesn't stop, as you get older it's supposed to get easier but it didn't. I remember when my mother told my father I was suicidal and his exact words were, "I don't think you would ever go through with it." I was only 13 when this happens.
How he always made everything about himself. Made my life situations his own, girl's first love is supposed to be her father. But how was I supposed to love him when he didn't love me. When he said things that made me question my existence.
When I was 12 my safety had a bounty on it, I was abused for things that weren't my fault. Yet every day I walked into school with a smile on my face, I made people laugh. I laughed to stop myself from crying, I loved school because it was the escape from a place I was supposed to call home.
When I was 12 the world started to judge me, I didn't grow as fast as everyone else. I was the short girl that weighed less than 70 pounds. Called "cute" like a baby, I was compared to others which made me question who I was.
Yes, we were only kids, and kids are cruel. Kids talk about other kids for a laugh and approval from others. I was wrong to think it was cruel back then because by the time I was 13 I understood how much harsher it was. I opened up, I had friends I could trust and hurt them with my words for opening up.
Others were scared for my life more than I was. I was only in 8th grade the day I was called to the counselor's office and told that someone told her I had plans of not being Earth any longer. I was forced to open up to a stranger about things I didn't even understand inside of me. I lost my best friend because I was hurting her, and she was dying of being my friend.
Somehow my pain was shifted onto her, and that just made me even more guilty.
I was told I had people that loved me, my life mattered to others, and if I left I would be hurting them. But what about me? What about the girl whose own father pretended as he loved her. The girl who throughout all of this was struggling with her sexuality.
The girl who didn't even love herself. Who forced herself to believe the voices in her head telling her to slit her wrist. How did I matter to others when I didn't even matter to myself. My best friend was dying inside for me which I didn't understand. I, me, I was dying inside trying to convince everyone I was okay.
Trying to convince me I was okay. I held it together because if I opened up I would simply be letting everyone else win.
When they forced me to talk to a therapist, I couldn't trust anyone. Yet I found trust in her, she was the only one I trusted for a very long time. She understood me, it was a relief to feel like I wasn't alone because yes.
I was alone because no one knew, I fought by myself. And even when I lost the fight I was still fighting. Because every time I came home from school and sat on my bed the same bed that was in the middle of the cross fight when I was 5. The memories were still there, that Saturday afternoon. All those other days and nights.
How many times I was told no one cared. And one day when I came home from school I looked across my room my eyes landing on the scissors on my desk.
That was the first time I cut myself, and it sure wasn't the last. See you understand, I was alone. Because no one can be by your side 24/7, from that day I began to push everyone away. My family, my friends, I began to sit copped in my room crying, taking my anger out on myself. Because sometimes it just becomes too much for you to handle.
I thought of the time my sister told me, "You were a mistake." or the times she told me, "No one wanted me." One of those random days my parents were arguing and my father said he wished I was never born because if I wasn't he wouldn't be stuck in a house or a marriage that was so past broken.
When the voices started to drift away, and I was 2 months clean of self-harm, I was happy. It wasn't a fake smile on my face, I wasn't trying to make others happy or my happiness wasn't within others it was within me.
I won't forget the day I told my therapist I was okay, and I didn't need her anymore. She was proud of me, and I was happy. It stayed that way for a month until I broke my 3 months because of my frustration. But I was too scared to tell my mother I have broken again because she was finally happy I was "fixed." Months later my sister left for college, right as I began trusting her. And that's when the voices came back.
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