Behind closed doors

Did I really deserve it?

When I started it was like I couldn't stop. I ended going deeper and deeper. But then I stoped on my arm. This was around the age of 10. But then on my 11th birthday I couldn't hold it in. I still remember what I used. Eyebrow scissors you know those that your supposed to throw away after one use. Those in plastic. I even remember the fucking color of it. Light blue.

I sat down on the floor crying my fucking eyes out. And I grabbed it, I started on my arm. But then I don't know something told me not to do there. So I continued on my ankle. That's why I wasn't walking normal. That's why you fucking idiot. I didn't wear anything that showed my legs that summer.

But remember those times when you were so fucking drunk that you were nice? Those are the only good memories from my fucking childhood. You being drunk. Even though it's my favorite memories I can't help the fact to be afraid of drunk people. You scream me, I still remember that night. That wasn't how a dad touched a daughter. That was fucked.

Remember when you saw my scars and started to laugh into my face? Well I remember. And then what was your favorite joke? Oh right it was me and my self harm I'm so happy it made you happy, dad.

You know how I always have been dreaming of my wedding, how I already know what I want. No right you don't know. Cuz you never asked about me. Never what I liked, never what I hated, nothing.