Dear Diary,
What am I? WHO am I? My mother said I was her "golden miracle from up above." Was. Before I welcomed heroin into my life with open arms. Anything to escape the secrets and lies trapped between family ties. To blind the cries I saw in my mother's eyes as daddy expressed his "love" for her. Love that came in the form of heavy hands and belts, blacks and blues. Now I am the "bitch" that was too high to come down to save her. My friends said I was "loved too much to be abandoned." That was before I realized that my appearance was loved more than my personality. As my eyes had shown insomnia had won the battle against sleep. As my hair turned into a beast not able to be tamed by even the strongest brush or comb. As my dilated pupils became a regular feature on my worn face. My heart became a disposable accessory. A purse ready to be tossed aside as the season changed. Backs are turned as they could not stand the sight of the knife protruding from my own back. The knife with their fingerprints engraved on it. My lover said I was "the most beautiful flower to ever bloom on the earth." Only I was beautiful when bent over a table, hair pulled, insides screaming for help. Only I was beautiful when on my knees forced to beg for more pain and roughness. Only I was beautiful when on my back, blinded by white, wrapped in the feeling of satisfaction and victory emanating from his body. I sit alone in the dark, eyes rolled back with heroin pumping through my body, releasing me from the life I unwillingly live. I float higher and higher until I can't see my world full of problems and fears anymore. Now the question is no longer "what am I?" or "who am I?" It is who have I become?
Until next time,
Twila Jones
YOU ARE READING
Diary of the Lost Twila Jones
Short StoryTwila Jones comes from a dark, difficult past. She manages to escape it, but it comes back to haunt her at night. Until one day she meets a beautiful stranger, Elijah Graham, who comes to her shop in Grand Lake, Colorado. Sparks fly and the nightma...
