She's only a baby.

Unfortunate Start

From a young age, I was born into this world with no one really loving me. My mother gave birth to me at the tender age of 17, In the 90's it wasn't common to see teen Mums and Dads.

I was my mothers first baby she had ever held, touched, cared for. She didn't have a motherly bone in her body. I don't blame her, her mother was known around West Auckland as the loud drunk who slept with half the adult male population of her time.

My mothers name was Frances, she was a street kid who spat on the legal system and anyone who ever tried to help her. She had no idea who her father was, and despised her mother.

Karen was her mother, she had found out that my mother was pregnant a few days after I was born. Apparently she just showed up carrying me in her arms.

When Karen found out about herself being with child at 19 with Frances she drank and smoked just so she wouldn't have to go to an abortion clinic.

She ended up giving birth to Frances at 6 months gestation which she always told me she never ever wanted her and that having her was the worst mistake of her life.

My father on the other hand was the only person who ever showed me love. The only one who treated me like I was his blood, his daughter.

He was turning 17 a month after I was born, he dropped out of high school and quickly found him a job to support us. Apart from his weekends where he left Frances and I to go womanise all the different teenage girls who he had meet at league games he was a decent father.

Not only when he left us for his weekends with his mistresses my mother who would cry and be depressed all the time would leave me in my cot to cry, she wouldn't even talk to me!

"Talk to her, sing to her, play with her" my father would say.

"That's stupid, she's only a baby! What's the point! She can't understand me" Frances would always say.

Some nights she would leave me all alone and lock up the house with me in my bed asleep while she walked to a bridge and contemplate on wether to commit suicide or not. She often would say to me that she was worried about me but to be quiet honest, she cared more about someone loving her then me.

Hearing Frances scream and cry while my father would lay his hands on her was a normality. It was a weekly thing. He would beat her till her face was blue and red and put her in a cold shower and beat her some more.

I never understood why this happend. But when I look into his eyes and see nothing but black soulless circles where the brown use to be, that wasn't the father I knew.