Freedom Beyond These Lips

Chapter 1: The Beginning of It All

I clutched my pillow and closed my eyes, trying to rest. It seemed like I struggled with sleeping nowadays. My thoughts constantly replaying the nightmares of my past, reliving every single good entity that i'd ever embraced being ripped from the palms of my hands; as if they were only there for a brief second for me to enjoy before being sent off to the heavens. I wiped my tears, and shifted. Hearing the very loud thunderous crashing of ceramic breaking on the tile floor, or the loud shouting coming from the kitchen in the first floor. I could recall locking myself in my room for only a good 20 minutes before the lock was broken, and I had slammed my entire 90 pounds against it before being knocked back onto the carpet, and having my own chair chucked at me, fists being plowed into the side of my face. A secret that always remained hidden behind my lips. Words that were never spoken, and bruises that were never seen. I'd smile the next morning to my abuser and tell them that the injuries were my own fault for being a klutz. For they would never remember the incident prior. The past had changed me significantly. I couldn't even handle a high five, for i'd shriek and cower. When concern had finally come to surface, it was too late and I was already an adult. I was excellent at timing things. I could explain things and let things roll off my shoulders in one gigantic avalanche, and this - is that story.

The moon came to it's highest point. It was officially midnight and, I was awake, fiddling with my stuffed animal's fur and listening through my headphones, a soft voice gently humming into my ears, lulling me into a sullen mood. I tried to suppress the memories, taking a deep breath in. Since I was a little girl, I can recall alcoholic abuse, which then was later inflicted on me. For an odd reason, I couldn't remember anything from ages 6-11. A rather large gap that made me feel as if those years were insignificant, or perhaps memories that my mind wanted to keep locked out. I can remember being four and five, and I can recall being twelve, but never in between. I proclaimed myself that the years four, five, and twelve were traumatic incidents, which is why I can recall so much. I should start with the beginning though.

My mother once told me that my father, who left me at a later age, didn't want to be a father when my mother discovered her pregnancy. He did everything in his will to abuse her, and to force a miscarriage upon her, but I couldn't say that her words were written in stone. I hardly believed anything that she said, for.. She was constantly lying. However, when my father never did come back to visit me, I couldn't help but believe that the reasons were because of me. Who could blame the guy? It was a one-night stand that he didn't intend to get anything out of, and here I came nine months later to haunt that night. I remember her telling me that the whole family turned their back's on me because unlike my two siblings, who I wouldn't even dare calling siblings, were not from the same father. Their father was the result of a forced marriage and later divorce after they were born. Then, she'd found my father who was a Native American man that lived in the mountains, and he'd tell me all about the animals that lived with him. He'd owned a raccoon, and a wolf and all sorts of creatures I was fascinated by. I'd like to think he was a sweet man. Mother only let me see him once a year, but it got confusing because I was raised by my own mother, and a step-father who took my last name at birth. I didn't technically belong to my biological father in any shape or form. I had his DNA, but that's where the line was drawn. I couldn't understand what the point was of seeing him. My mother always said since her father died at a young age, she felt obligated to give me one. She gave me three. My step-father who raised me, my sibling's father, and the biological father who wanted nothing to do with me.