STORY OF MY LIFE

part 3:Dealing with the present

What would you have me do,cry alittle longer?Suffer a little longer?Plead alittle longer?

Many people have many different life experiences.

I guess my was just a little more on the bad side.

I feel this constant pain ,ringing in my head and a stinging -almost literally in my heart.

It hurts.All the time.

Constantly,even now 6 almost 7 years later.
I tell myself I'm strong.I say to keep my head high.To be brave and I can do anything I put my mind to.

The truth is I'm a shell of a person who had yet to be formed.Sometimes I picture myself happy.The stereotypical teenager arguing with my parents but loving them a second later.SIbilings fighting over the TV remote and not over our abusive status. I imagine normalites people usually take for granted.

I have a monkey on my back,that's a metaphor.A dark clouded past that even now, can't seem to be left alone.

Tragedy is apart of life,but trauma wasn't build in the human psychology to with stand a level of such high ...pain.

My big sister.She is the most childish person you could ever meet.It's like she deciding going with the flow was too mainstream ,so she aged backwards like Benjamin Button.
She has the tongue of the devil himself.She says things sometimes.Things that is her mind is perfectly correct.But in all truth is like a dagger pericing you heart .Her words for the lack of a better word hurt.

She said something's to me the other night.Lets just say it scratched open a very badly healed wound.I went from playful banter to tears spilling over my cheeks in a matter of seconds. Tears I couldn't control.They say tears appear when you experience a deep emotion.My heart seemed too not agree with what she said.It was such a stupid thing though.She something along the lines of "we didn't respect her because we were NEVER deciplined, and then she went as far as saying she wished my DEAD father was here so he could SLAP some respect into me". WHAT THE FUCK?!

If you don't understand why I possible was upset ofter that then there is seriously something wrong with the world.

So the tears came.That one sentence broke me down in seconds after my brain was able to process what she had said.Never deciplinded,what did she call the years of being slapped open palm with a wooden spoon if the outside lights weren't off by 5:30 am On The Dot?What did she call the beating we would get if we forgot one water spot on a glass or if we didn't wash the dishes in hot enough water.What the hell did she call being threated to DEATH for tell you step sister not to throw elastic bands at peoples faces.

When I knew the tears weren't going to stop I jumped up and prepared. I knew what was to come.

I grabbed my big pillow and sprang against my door.LIKE I use to do when HE wanted to give more punishment.He usually won though,my weight wasn't enough to keep him out.I sat tightly against the door,blocking any enter.I curel up ,my legs are at my chest,my arms gripping my legs so tightly they tingle.

This is panic mode.My mind goes numb and my limbs follow.It's like a soldier training for battle, following the orders.

I sit on the ground as tight against the door as possible,keeping everyone out,bring my pillow to my face and cry.

My mind is a traitor.As soon as absolutely any memory pops up,it all floods back.

Every hit of a belt,hand,wooden object,stick or pipe .
Every death threat,and sleepless night.
The eyes of the devil stare into mine,shouting at me to tell him why I was so useless,why I was even born.

It all floods back.

So I do what I do best.I try to block it out.

I stare with the most emotionless face I can muster at anything.

On the outside tears are running down my cheeks at a alarming but familiar rate,my breath is coming out in short pants.

My head spins with emotions I try push back in.
And the panic attack sets in.My head gets dizzy ,my breath hard,my lungs burn.I know it's there and there is nothing I can do to prevent it.
I just turn my head to the Lord and ask for the pain to stop.

I barley notice the attack until it's to late.The pain in my chest grows with each new in-flood of memories,I tried so hard to forget.

I can forget for weeks at a time,before they grace me again. And then I panic.

People call for me,tell me to open the door-they want to help.

All I can answer back with is," No,no,no,no..."It's not them I'm speaking to.I tried so hard to forget.They are my plauge. I don't want to remember.

After my breath is calm,the anger-unenviable rage sets in.

My lip twitches,my hands curel into balls.

I'm angry at so much.The bitch who brought up my demons,the fucking king of my demons himself,my weakness,how pathetic I probably am in that very moment...

You know how people say physical pain eases emotional pain.

I my case it really does.

I start of with thoughts,I quease my eyes shut,I want them gone.I punch the wall softly, then harder as my anger increases .The thoughts comes back as soon as the pain stops.I don't want anymore tears so I start punching my fist into my leg.I know it's wrong,I don't love myself though.I still feel numb.
It doesn't give me joy or make me feel relaxed.Itsimple distracts me.My skin feels like its crawling so I scratch till its raw.Then I take deep breaths.Panic mode is over,and I cry because I realize I broke my promise.

I stare at the red ,throbbing marks all around my body,they make me forget.I stare at my knuckles hopping the don't swell as much this time.

I once punched out a window.I was 13.I broke my hand ,so now I punch with my left.

I have done worst,when I was depressed.I was about 12,when it happened.I never cut my wrists ,I wouldn't,but if I found a piece of sharp object,I would just break the skin.I wanted to see if SHE would notice that I was so tortured.Of course she didn't .I did things no other 12 year old would think of.I was in a very dark place back then.Nobody knew.Nobody cared.I still remember crying myself to sleep ,every night for a year.I waited for my sister in the bed next to mine to fall asleep before I silently sobbed onto my pillow.

I know my mind is broken.

I know I'm good at keeping my facade up,so I do ,I hide,hopping they won't find out how truely broken I am.

How I'm only here because I found my Lord, without Him,I would have found the courage to end it all year's ago.

Can I tell you a secret?

The pain never truely ends.