Therapy session.

Its like nobodys fucking listening

Sometimes I feel like nobody's fucking listening, from the times I would rant about how every single one of my friends have hurt me in someway, or from the time that I had to get dragged out and slapped for not going to school. The truth about this world is it's fucking horrible no matter if we like it or not. I always thought mothers had a special bond with her children, now I just think that some moms are children, well some children are the moms. Sometimes I miss being a mom, now I'm a ghost. It was never my fault, sometimes the memory of her pops up in my head at her texts of "I love you", or the occasional of her giving me money. They give me mixed feelings, I remember those memories of when she'd hurt me in those ways that nobody else could, me eating alone with the renaissance of my once beautiful self. She would've joined, but as my moms daughter, she couldn't. Back when I still had visits with Stefanie, and I told her all about the ways she had hurt poor Tallie she said I pure lies like Tallie didn't remember, the vile way she explained it hurts all the more, doesn't it? Me? For her it was a random Tuesday, but for Tallie it's all she can remember.

Oh the fiery rage I felt when she hurt tayla, the sister I saved. The screaming of pain and grief swirling like how witches do in the little cartoons for children. How I wrote that eight page letter just to burn it with a lighter in front of her eyes, how I made her cry with my words. The way that shadows cast over me, mom, I'm sorry for ruining your life, but you cast them, the grief of a child. Oh! Your the Victim. Sorry, I forgot mom. Your the fucking innocent little girl crying as she kicked her door shut as you spilled your fire filled words at papa. Your the little girl who knew once she got her hands filled up with the black liquid called oil her childhood will look that way when she turns around. And your the daughter who's mother always caught her tounge and threw her away like the piece of garbage you forced her to be. If I were to go back in time, when we lived with papa I'd be watching you braid tallies beautiful blonde hair, that you said went down to her butt. Her hair best, I'd watch you hug and cuddle her, put mascara on her, telling Tallie to blink. You know, she never forgot that throughout. Why couldn't you be my mother? The one I deserved?

I'm mad at you but I can't be mad, just like I hate being ignored so I ignore it. Anger is a feeling you can change, papa used to say. Sometime so think he's a hyprocrite. He used to smash the tables as he chewed on his tabacoo, threatening to get worse if I cried. I hate that I'm full of rage, do I really deserve this pain at 13? After all, I only turn 14 in a month. Sometimes, I'm so mad at the world, I become mad at myself, it's easier done that screaming at the others, after all, it's like nobody's fucking listening. I hate that I cry easily, the river of tears sitting on the ground as I cry over something so simple, the anger slowly bubbling up then having to walk into that horrible school of insecure 12-15 year olds.
In school, not only do I fail math tests, I fail as Tallie, a student, and most importantly my dedication. Sometimes I want to scream, throw up, and go mental. But they threaten me with the dark chains and the unknown mysteries of the world if I'm a failure.

They threaten you with the cruel names, the nicknames to talk shit right behind your back, the physical threats, saying you smell when you just used 12 cans of deodorant when really you've never ever been smelly, or the gap between my teeth when you can't do anything about it. School is cruel, but so is the world. Maybe one day, you'll be able to understand what I felt that day. From the day I didn't have enough motivation to brush my hair and my brown golden hair turned into a birds nest they said, one felt only a tiny bit bad for me as they laughed. Why does everyone look at me this way? Silence is the only language I'm fluent in, so why? Bullying and standing up for yourself is like trying to start a fire with matches in the snow. Exactly, you can't. I'll survive, somehow I always do, of course. Somehow, I always notice, it's the practice of pretending not too, it's a way of knowing who's real. Life is like poker, once you take a step, you take a step of in or out.