Broken Girls & Broken Bottles

Is Anyone Even Listening?

                 I remember a kid in class named Morgan V. , he lost his mom after my parents got divorced and they briefed us before he showed up for class. He looked so sad and lost, just like me. I had empathy for him, I felt like I lost my mom, and she was still alive. She just wasn't the same anymore. She was a broken woman, looking for answers to heal her wounded heart. 

My mom drilled my sister and I, from the time that our dad left us, into our head that men aren't shit; and the only thing they want from us women is to take care of them, and have sex with them. I didn't even know what sex was until she said this. And I still didn't understand it, I just knew that it was bad and that we were never supposed to do it with anyone. Which was pretty detrimental to my mental and physical health when I started middle school.

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              I have a distinct memory of the daddy daughter dance in fifth grade. I spent days looking for the perfect dress, and couldn't help but to be excited to attend a dance with my father, since I hadn't really seen him that often anymore. This made my mother upset, that I was excited to see him, and she was very cold to me for those days leading up to the dance. I thought I would feel like Cinderella.. The day came, and I got all dressed up, then sat and waited for my dad to pick me up; he was late. We got to the dance and went to a table. Both of us were a little socially awkward and this dance wasn't really our scene, but I was so excited to be there with him, I didn't care about anything except dancing with my daddy. We sat down for majority of the time but we danced a little and he held me close while dancing to a slow song. I started crying because I missed him so much. I just wanted everything to go back to normal..

A little memoir book they gave us had broken, the spiral had fallen out and my dad used it as an excuse to sit down away from everyone to go fix it in the corner. I sat there watching him fix it with tears in my eyes because I could tell he didn't want to be there. We left early because it was part of the divorce terms to have us home by a certain time. He asked my mom to pick up my sister and take us to Mister Goodies, which is an ice cream spot still popular in my town. She said yes and we went. I was disappointed in my night because I watched all my friends dance with their fathers so happily, so in love with life, and they all got to go home together.                                                     That was the last time I was ever excited for a dance that required me to go with someone else. I felt ashamed and insecure. Did he not want to dance with me because he didn't like me? That was the very last distinct memory I have from elementary school.

                   Sixth grade came around and I was excited to have my very first locker, It made me feel  responsible. I felt like I had something of my own I got to take care of however I wanted. I started taking Spanish class and engaging with new friends. I Decided to change my life right then and there, on the first day of sixth grade. That was an okay year for me, I started getting bullied for the first time in sixth grade while also starting to receive male attention for the first time. Which became a new obsession for me. I was receiving attention and it felt good to be noticed even if it was only for my body shape and how I looked.

This was a turning point in how I viewed myself. I felt like I needed to belong somewhere to feel important. I outdid myself in making the wrong influential friends. I started wearing crop tops we got from Goodwill. Which is also around the same time my mom became aware of my body and how I was perceived. She started to attempt to shelter me from the outside world and male tendencies.

She told me I was dressing like a hooker when I'd wear a crop top or shorts that were above my knee. This changed the appearance of myself. I came to the realization that the less clothes I wore or the tighter they were would draw more attention to me, both negative and positive. At least someone was paying attention to me. It felt like they cared. Which you can most likely forecast the path this had led me down.