kila, interrupted

prologue

I didnt want this. But I was sad. I was sad for no reason. Sad because of things that happened in the past and I couldn't get over them. I don't know why I was so infinitely sad all of the time. It wasn't my fault it was just something I had. Something I couldn't control. And it made me angry. I was getting punished for something I couldn't control. Why was I getting punished, I didn't deserve this. It wasn't my fault.

I don't deserve this, this shouldn't be happening. I'm always sad. And when I realize I'm sad like always, I get mad, and when I get mad I destroy things. I destroy things, other people, and myself. But I couldn't control it, so it wasn't my fault. So I shouldn't be getting punished, why was this happening to me. This isn't fair. I don't need this. I don't. I never did. I just need to suck it up. And stop being such a bitch all the time.

And I was talking. No. I wasn't talking. I was screaming. And I wasn't screaming too anybody. I was screaming to myself. And when I realized it, it was already to late. I was then pulled put of my room by my father and carried down stairs. I didn't fight it, this was my fate. And I was being taken, I could hear my mom sobbing hysterically, calling out my name. Saying I love you.

I knew she meant it, but it didn't mean anything anymore. I was getting shoved in our family car and now my dad was driving somewhere.

I had an idea, it was Claymoore. A place for sickos like me. A place I belong in, a place I'll be for a very, very long while.

And daddy and mommy were smart, they did it before I turned eighteen and wasn't in their possession no more. I turn eighteen tomorrow.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

But it was fine. I was fine. Well, decent. If I was fine I wouldn't be in the position I am right now. In the back of my dad's car just staring out into the window, watching the moving world. While my dad was yelling at me, blaming me for being the way I am.

The way I grew up to be.

Taking me to Claymoore.

This was my fate, and I accepted it. There was no turning back, my father made up his mind.

You couldn't change it even if you had a gun to his head.

Maybe it was the countless times my mom found me in my room, or in the utility or in the bathroom. Trying to slash down my arms or hang myself, or just cut, and cut, cut in to my thighs hoping that one day I'll have the courage to just press down all the way.

Maybe that was the reason.

It wasn't because of my emotions. No.

They didn't care about that, they just cared about the lengths I had to go to cope with it.

I've been in therapy for years, but it never helped. Partly the reason being, everything I went to my therapist, he didn't care about making me feel better, he didn't care of helping me cope. No, not at all.

All he thought of was how much pleasure he could give to me, and tried it on me a couple times. I sometimes fought it, because it didn't ever feel right the way he forced himself upon me.

But it never worked, so I stopped trying and just let it happen. I guess I deserved this. I was sad, uncontrollably sad. And I could fix it, and my parents and everyone who surrounded theirself around me was hurting because of it.

It was my punishment.

But I'd prefer the one I'm about to get again then this one.

My therapist suggested this place, to my dad. And as soon as it was brought up my dad agreed. And today was the day it would happen.