The Filth that Rots Away My Body and Your Heart

Self-Hater / Self-Lover

Filth.

Do you know how filthy something can actually be?

Most people can bear a little untidiness. Some can't even handle the lightest spec of dust.

As for me, I've lived surrounded by grease my entire life.

My name is Alicia Doigtdefée, and I have no idea how old I am.

You see, I was born in a dirt poor family, one that couldn't even afford the bills while living inside a trailer. But it was never because of a lack of job, or some form of injustice.

My parents were spending addicts.

The moment money came into their pocket, they had the urge to spend it away for some stupid bullshit. Not that I'm much better, I barely ever touched money, but each time I did, I got rid of it in an hour. Much more efficient than a serial killer at disposing body, that's what I am, I think.

So, you know. If they didn't bother taking care of themselves just for the thrill of playing, why would they care about their daughter? I was made aware early on, I was just an accident. A rip is why I was born, and I got beaten for any time they felt like fixing their errors, ripping my skin and sanity apart.

Most of the time, I was locked into a room, alone, yet surrounded... by all the useless junk they bought. I wasn't showered, almost completely unfed, unkept in check too, I destroyed more stuff than most before I could even count. Each time this earned me a beating because of excuses like: "This could have been useful!" No it wouldn't have been. "I was attached to it." No you weren't.

But I didn't care, because this would give me some kind of attention. Sometime they'd take me to the hospital if the beating got too much. But I think my parents were kind of important people. That's why the nurses never bothered to ask questions or send me away. Or maybe the orphanages were all full of other failures? These are the only explanations I have.

Most of my deciduous teeth rotted away, replaced by imperfection that would sometimes hurt. I also decided to cut my hair myself using whatever tools I found inside of that room. It was getting hard to feel that weight full of parasites and grease over my head. Then it lied there for several months. Until one of them decided to clean it up after the smell got worse. Regarding my clothes consisted of my father's, too big for my malnourished body, a cap, too wide for my small head, and some shoes he bought out of compulsion. They hid the misery better than the dresses of my mom. Perfect.

I was looking more like a boy than a girl at this point. But since I wasn't allowed out. Why care?

Over time though, the health issues started to pile up. Especially around my arms. Some wounds got infected and I had the urge to scratch it away, as the itch was getting unbearable. It wasn't the only area touched though, pretty sure I'm sterile now, however it was the most visible as I was now forced to constantly wear bandages around my arms and change them regularly.

This seemed to be the final straw for my parents. Maybe... Again I'm not quite sure what went down.

Simply put: At night, during a troubled sleep, I heard rummages around the house.

This intrigued me so I woke up and slowly crawled towards the door. Sadly, I didn't have the strength to back off the moment I heard unknown voices. Right when I understood something was wrong, two men that seemed gigantic compared to my frail stature, entered the room and started to grab a hold of me.

A catatonic shock, some absolute fear, or maybe a drug... However it happened, I only know I fell unconscious and woke up some hours later after getting yelled at. I felt like my head was about to burst open, yet no cry or sadness came from me. I think this was genuine happiness?