Break Me

2

Time is a curious thing. It stretches and contracts, warping reality in ways that make it hard to grasp the true weight of moments. The days following my father's death blurred together, like watercolor paint smudged across a canvas. I learned quickly that grief wasn't just an emotion—it was a force, a tidal wave that crashed over you, dragging you beneath the surface.
I remember the funeral. I wore a dress my mother had bought for my aunts wedding, the soft fabric stiff and itchy against my skin. I felt like a doll dressed for display, trapped in a world that no longer felt real. The church was filled with people, their faces a blur of sadness, whispers floating through the air like confetti from a celebration that had long since ended.
"Your daddy is in heaven now, Ellie," my mother had told me in the car on the way to the church, her voice breaking as she fought back tears. "He's watching over you."
I didn't understand what she meant. Heaven? It sounded so far away, a place I could never reach. All I knew was that my father wasn't here, and I felt an emptiness inside me, a gaping hole where his laughter used to be.
The priest spoke, his voice echoing in the hushed space, and I clutched my bear tightly, seeking comfort in its soft fur. The adults around me cried softly, their shoulders shaking, and I wanted to cry too, to let the hurt out, but the tears wouldn't come. Instead, I felt numb, as if the world had wrapped itself in a thick fog, isolating me from the pain surrounding me.
After the service, we returned home. The weight of the silence enveloped us like a suffocating blanket. My mother had been distant, her eyes vacant as she moved about the house. I tried to speak to her, to ask when Daddy would come back, but she only turned away, her expression hardening like ice.
The first night without him was the hardest. I lay in my bed, clutching my bear, the darkness pressing in around me. I could hear my mother moving around the house, her footsteps heavy and unsteady. The once warm and inviting home felt cold and foreign. The familiar creaks of the floorboards now echoed with an unsettling tension.
Days turned into weeks, and my mother seemed to unravel. The laughter that once filled our home faded, replaced by her angry outbursts and the clinking of glass bottles. I learned to tiptoe around her, so that I could avoid her volatile moods. Sometimes, she would look at me with a softness that reminded me of the mother I used to know, but then the darkness would creep back in, transforming her into a stranger.
One evening, I tiptoed into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of something familiar. My mother sat at the table, her hair disheveled, staring blankly at a half-empty bottle of whiskey. I hesitated at the doorway, clutching my bear tightly, unsure if I should approach. "Mommy?" I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.
She glanced up, her eyes glazed over, as if she were seeing me from a great distance. "What do you want, Ellie?" she snapped, the sharpness of her tone slicing through the air.
"I... I just wanted to know if we could have dinner together," I said, my heart racing.
She scoffed, her laughter bitter and hollow. "Dinner?" She retorted, the anger in her voice wrapping around me like a thorny vine.
I swallowed hard, backing away slightly. "I'm hungry..." I murmured, feeling small and insignificant.
Her expression softened for a fleeting moment, but the alcohol's grip was too strong. "Make yourself a sandwich or something. I can't deal with your whining right now," she said, her voice laced with frustration.
I nodded, feeling the sting of tears pricking at my eyes. I turned away, shuffling back to my room. My stomach growled in protest, but I didn't want to push her. In that moment, I understood that I had to fend for myself; the safety net that had once cradled me was gone.
Weeks turned into months, and the house became more of a prison. The walls that had held so many happy memories now echoed with my mother's drunken rants and violent outbursts. I learned to find solace in the small things—reading my picture books in the dim light of my room, hugging my bear tightly, and imagining a world beyond this small town.
Every day, I watched as my mother descended deeper into her own darkness. The laughter we once shared was replaced by her screams, the sound reverberating through the house, shaking me to my core. I learned to hide away, to retreat into the corners of my imagination where I could be with my father again. In those moments, he was still alive, still laughing, still holding me close.
On particularly bad nights, when my mother stumbled through the house, slurring her words and throwing things, I would huddle under my blanket, holding my bear against my chest, wishing I could disappear. I imagined my father's arms around me, his warm voice assuring me that everything would be okay. But he wasn't there, and I was left to navigate this twisted reality alone.
I remember the first time the abuse became physical. My mother had gone out to buy more alcohol, and I could sense that she was spiraling further into madness. I sat on the floor of my room, surrounded by my toys, feeling the weight of despair settle heavily on my small shoulders.
Hours passed, and I could hear her stumbling through the door, her voice raised in angry shouts. "Where are you, Ellie?!" she yelled, the sound echoing through the house.
I remained quiet, pressing my back against the wall, heart racing. I didn't want to provoke her, to draw her attention. I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the chaos outside, wishing for a magic spell that would whisk me away from this life.
"Get out here, you little brat!" she screamed, and I could hear the clatter of bottles falling to the ground, shattering against the floor. My heart raced as I braced for the inevitable storm.
Reluctantly, I pushed myself up, creeping into the living room where she stood, swaying slightly, her hair hanging in her face. "What did I tell you about hiding?" she slurred, her eyes darkened and wild.
"I—I was just playing," I stammered, taking a step back.
"Playing? Is that what you call it?" She moved closer, and I could smell the acrid scent of alcohol on her breath. "You think you can just ignore me? You think you're better than me?"
I shook my head, fear gripping my throat. "No, Mommy. I'm sorry..."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Ellie!" she yelled, her voice sharp like glass.
Tears welled in my eyes as I shrank back, feeling the heat of her anger wash over me. I didn't understand why she was like this. I wanted to help her, to be the good daughter she needed, but all I could feel was the overwhelming weight of her disappointment.
Suddenly, she lunged forward, and I stumbled back, falling against the wall.
"Mommy, please!" I cried, my heart racing as I tried to avoid her.
But her anger was a storm, raging out of control, and I was powerless to stop it. In that moment, I felt the sharp sting of her hand against my cheek, the blow unexpected and cold. "You're nothing without me!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the empty space.
The world around me blurred as I pressed my hands to my face, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn't understand why she was hurting me, why the woman who once held me close now lashed out like a wild animal.
I curled up in a ball on the floor, my bear clutched tightly to my chest, I thought about my father. I remembered how safe he made me feel, how he'd comfort me in times of trouble. I wanted to believe that somewhere, in some faraway place, he was watching over me, guiding me through this darkness.
In that moment of despair, a flicker of resilience ignited within me. I couldn't keep living like this. I couldn't let my mother's anger consume me. I needed to find a way out, to escape this cycle of pain.
The next day, I took my first step toward freedom. I ventured outside, the cold air biting at my cheeks, but I welcomed it. The world was vast and full of possibilities, a stark contrast to the suffocating walls of our home. I wandered through the snow, feeling the crunch beneath my boots, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of determination rising within me.
I found myself at the edge of the woods, where the trees stood tall and proud, their branches heavy with snow. It felt like a sanctuary, a place where I could breathe and be free from the chaos of my life. I sat down in the snow, the cold seeping through my clothes, but I didn't care. Here, I could think without my mother's shouting echoing in my ears. I closed my eyes, imagining my father's smile, the way it lit up his entire face. I clutched my bear tightly, whispering promises to him, vowing to find a way to be okay, no matter how dark things got.
The icy chill in the air reminded me that my sanctuary was only temporary. I knew I had to go back home, to the place where I felt so small and helpless. As I trudged back, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in my stomach.
When I opened the door to the house I was met with silence. It was a strange kind of quiet, the kind that felt heavy and oppressive. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever awaited me inside. I stepped into the living room and froze.
My mother sat slumped on the couch, a bottle of whiskey dangling loosely from her hand, her head resting against the armrest. She looked like a broken doll, the vibrant woman I once knew reduced to a shadow of herself. A knot twisted in my stomach as I approached her.
"Mommy?" I whispered, my heart racing. I didn't want her to hurt me again, but a part of me wanted to reach out, to shake her awake from this nightmare.
She stirred slightly but didn't respond. I took another step closer, my breath hitching in my throat. "Mommy, are you okay?"
Suddenly, she shot up, her eyes wide and wild, and I felt my heart drop. "What do you want?" she snapped, her voice harsh and unwelcoming.
I took a step back, the fear washing over me again. "I just wanted to know if we could have lunch together," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Lunch?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes. "What do you think this is? A restaurant? Make your own damn food!"
I nodded, feeling the sting of tears burning in my eyes. "I'm sorry..."
"Sorry isn't enough!" she yelled, her anger radiating through the room. "You think this is easy for me? You're just a burden, Ellie!"
Her words pierced through me, and I turned away, feeling the tears spill down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to tell her I was trying my best, but all I could do was retreat to my room.
Once inside, I locked the door behind me, sinking to the floor. I hugged my bear tightly to my chest, the soft fur comforting against my tear-streaked face. "I don't want to be a burden," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I just want my mommy back."
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I gathered my courage. I had been thinking about it for a while—thinking about how I wanted to get away. I couldn't keep waiting for my mother to change; I had to find a way to escape this endless cycle of pain.
After my mother had gone to bed, I tiptoed around the house, gathering a few essentials—a change of clothes, my favorite book, and my beloved bear. I stashed them in a small backpack, feeling a mix of excitement and fear bubbling within me. I knew I couldn't leave right away; I had to wait for the right moment.
The following day, I took a deep breath and set my plan into motion. After breakfast, I quietly slipped out the door, leaving a note for my mother on the table. "I'm going to the woods," I wrote, hoping it would ease her guilt, hoping she would understand.
Outside, the chill of the air stung my skin like icy needles. The snow crunched beneath my feet as I made my way to my secret hideaway. The trees stood tall and silent, their branches heavy with white, like guardians keeping watch over me. I felt the weight of my mother's anger lift slightly with every step I took.
I reached my fort and settled inside, the snow forming a cozy barrier against the world. I pulled out my book and began to read, losing myself in the pages. The story transported me to a different world, where heroes triumphed over darkness, where love conquered all. I wished I could be a hero, that I could save my mother from her demons and reclaim the family we once had.
After a few hours, reality set in, reminding me that I was just a little girl, powerless against the storm that raged in our home. I felt a wave of sadness wash over me, but I refused to let it drown me. I would be strong. I had to be.
As the day stretched on, I practiced my courage. I spoke to my father, imagining him sitting beside me, encouraging me to be brave. "I'm going to make things better," I whispered, a sense of determination filling me. "I won't let her break me."
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow, I ventured back home. The air was thick with tension as I opened the door to our house. I could hear my mother's muffled voice coming from the living room, her tone harsh and sharp.
I froze, my heart racing as I braced myself for whatever awaited me inside. I took a deep breath and stepped into the living room.
My mother sat on the couch, a half-empty bottle in hand, the remnants of her latest binge strewn across the table. She looked up at me, her expression shifting from surprise to anger in an instant. "Where have you been?" she slurred, her words thick and slow.
"I was at the woods," I replied quietly, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Don't lie to me, Ellie! You think you can just wander off? You think you're grown up now?"
I shook my head, feeling the tears sting my eyes. "I just wanted to be outside..."
She laughed, a bitter sound that made my stomach twist. "Outside? You think that's all there is to life? You think you can just run away from your problems?"
"I'm not running away!" I protested, my voice shaking. "I want to help you, Mommy! I don't want you to be sad!"
Her expression faltered for a moment, and I saw a flicker of the woman I once knew. But it was quickly swallowed by the anger that surged within her. "Help me? You're just a little girl! You don't know anything!" she yelled, tossing the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound sharp and violent.
I flinched, stepping back as panic flooded my system. "I—I just want us to be a family again," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
"A family? We're not a family anymore!" she screamed, her face twisted in rage. "Your father left us! He's gone!"
The truth of her words struck me like a physical blow, and I felt the weight of despair settle heavily on my chest. I had been trying to cling to the remnants of what we once had, but now it felt like a dream slipping through my fingers.
"Mommy, please..." I pleaded, my voice trembling. "I miss him so much..."
I felt the tears spill over as I watched the woman I loved slip further away. "I don't want to be afraid anymore," I cried, feeling the weight of despair envelop me. "I just want my family back!"
"Family? You don't know what that word even means!" she shouted, her words like daggers piercing through my heart.
As her rage exploded around me, I knew I had to escape. I turned and fled, running from the house and into the woods, my heart racing. The cold air stung my cheeks, but I welcomed it as I pushed deeper into the trees, away from the chaos that had become my life.
I stumbled through the snow, my breath coming in gasps as I fought back tears. I didn't understand how everything had unraveled so quickly. I felt lost, like a ship adrift in a stormy sea, searching for a lighthouse to guide me home.
After what felt like hours of wandering, I finally found my fort, collapsing against the makeshift walls of branches and snow. I curled up inside, clutching my bear tightly to my chest as sobs wracked my body.
"I don't know what to do," I whispered into the stillness, the woods wrapping around me like a cocoon. "Please, help me..."
And in that moment of despair, a flicker of hope ignited within me. I realized that I had a choice. I didn't have to stay trapped in this cycle of pain. I could seek a way out, a way to break free from the chains that bound me to my mother's anger.
I would find a way to heal, to create a life for myself beyond the suffocating walls of that house. I didn't know how I would do it, but I would be brave. I would fight for my happiness, for the joy that had once filled our home.
With that thought, I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. The storm may rage on, but I was ready to weather it, ready to emerge stronger than before. I had to believe that there was light at the end of this dark tunnel, that I could find my way back to happiness.
And so, I made a vow to myself—to be resilient, to find my own path, and to never give up on the hope that still flickered within me. I would escape the pain, and in the process, I would reclaim my life.