Clipped Wings - A Story Of Today's Society

Entry Two

7/31/2016
11:17 p.m.
Song: Here - Alessia Cara

"I did put back! I know I did." I protest.

She looks ready to slap me.

"SHUT UP. YOU DIDN'T, OBVIOUSLY. DON'T YOU HAVE A BRAIN? YOU LOST MY SUNGLASSES."

It was stupid how something so simple could lead to screaming like this.

"I know I put it back on the shelf...I know I did." I murmur, and she laughs. "Did any of you see her put it back?" She turns to my siblings. "No." They all answer.

That's not true.

I know I did.

Why won't you believe me?

Please...

"God, I swear, you have some mental issues." She spits at me.

I DO.

I REALLY DO.

BUT YOU WOULDN'T LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TRIED TO TELL YOU.

You never listened to me.

When I was a damaged child, on my hands and knees, coming to you, begging for help, when I was at my weakest, when I needed a family to love me, when I was on the brink of death so early in my life, you know what you did?

You shut me out.

You locked me away and threw away the key.

You never believed me after that day.

The day that haunts me in my nightmares.

You always said that I could come to you if I needed help.
You always said that.
But the one time I come to you, the time when your daughter, the little girl you watched grow from a babbling toddler to a shy teenager, when I was your little girl, coming to you for help...
You beat me.
You hit me until I didn't know what love felt like anymore.
And just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, the physical beatings came to a pause, and the verbal beatings began.
"Attention seeker," you said.
"Drama queen," you sneered.
"Waste of time," you spat.
You just wouldn't stop.
Can you even begin to understand what you did to me?
You took me, a small, young, delicate child, into your hands...and you just...shattered me. You just kept breaking and breaking and breaking me until the pieces of me were too small to fix.
They tell me stories, of how they were raised in poor countries, with nothing. With only their hope.
They tell me that I can't be depressed because I have clothes, stuffed animals, electronics and a family.
They don't understand that it's possible to grow up, in a world full of luxuries, and never get what they want.
They offer me whatever I could want.
I say yes, and I am called selfish.
I say no, and I am called ungrateful.
I can never win.
As a child, I was selfish. I just took and took and took, thinking it would fill up the voids in my life.
The voids like, growing up and seeing my mother maybe once a week, or only hearing my father's voice when he wanted me to shut up, or my own siblings hating me.
I lived in agony.
"Be yourself." They encouraged. But when I told them I liked dressing like a boy, I was a disgrace. When I told them I was bisexual, they called me a freak. When I told them I was depressed, I was a waste of space and air.
They tell me to go, hang out with friends, that'll make me feel better.
I bring friends over, and my siblings won't stop bothering us for five seconds and my parents find every single flaw about them, and tell me not to hang out with them anymore.
I go out to friends' houses or out to different places, and they assume I'm breaking the law.
I'm suffocating.
If you want to kill yourself, now's your chance.

I don't plan on that, but...that means laying on my bedroom floor in bitter agony.

God, you're such a freak.
Let's go over what you suffer from.
Paranoid personality disorder, bipolar disorder, DID, schizophrenia, depression, suicidal tendencies and oh, why add more? You're miserable enough already.
Shut up.
Make me. Oh, wait, you can't, because you're too weak.
Shut up.
Your friends don't care.
Shut up, shut up.
Why bother living if all you do is pretend?
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP.
I crawl into the darkest corner of the room, wedged between my sister's dresser and the closet.
I'm surprised you managed to fit there, fatty.
I just sit there, basking in my tears and my wicked thoughts, my muted whimpers and sobs filling the air.

Someone help me...

Get me out of here...

I want out.

Yours truly,

Madisyn