How I Learned to Love

Hello.

Okay.

That was awkward.

So awkward.

My therapist insisted I wrote this and I thought it would be sweet or whatever, so here goes nothing.

My name is Beca Mitchell and this is the story of how I lost the ability to love and how I regained after I met one person.

oO0Oo

I've been told I have a good memory but there are many things I wish I could forget.

I'm an only child and that was quite boring growing up. You see, my dad traveled all week and only came back on weekends so that left me and my mom alone during the week and I liked it that way. And you all will soon find out why.

I was 5 years old and it was a weekend. We were eating dinner, which only consisted of sandwiches and milk. I hated the taste of bread, it felt awful in my mouth and it made me nauseous but I ate it anyway because my dad hated it when I left some food on my plate.

This time because I didn't like bread, I asked if I could have something else to eat.

"No, Beca, this all we'll have for dinner." My dad said firmly.

My dad had anger issues, each time he got angry you could see it in his red eyes and it terrified you.

"But daddy–"

"–Stop whining and eat up or you'll be sent to your room without dinner." He said to me, angry.

I suddenly called for my mom and ran to the nearest bathroom and she held my hair back as I puked and cried. God I hated puking.

My mom said nothing as she guided me back to the dinner table and my dad didn't look any less angry.

"Finish your sandwich." He said sternly.

I had just thrown up, that's how much I hated bread — later in my life I found out I had celiac disease — and my dad just made me continue. Of course I puked again and went to bed crying.

That's just the start of it.

oO0Oo

Car trips were usually fun, my mom and I would play car games and I would play with something or just talk to myself and make myself laugh. Yeah I was a weirdo.

This time, we were going to the beach, which was only a couple hours away so I was looking out the window and talking. I was around 6 years old. I sometimes shouted because of the game I was playing and later I'd laugh loudly.

"Beca, try to be quiet, mommy and daddy are trying to talk." My dad asked.

I was quiet for maybe a few minutes before I started up again. Hey, I was a kid and an only child at that, give me a break.

So my dad asked me again to be quiet but not in a nice tone, in a warning tone.

"Beca, if I have to stop the car to spank you, you're not gonna like it." He said.

I was quiet for a longer time and this time I only screamed because of a bug — I was terrified of bugs — so my dad pulled up the car and slowly took his seatbelt off.

I was afraid as I watched him go round the car and my eyes already welled up with tears before he opened my door and I saw he was holding his shoe in his hand — it wasn't a heavy shoe, it was a fancy slipper as I called it.

"No Daddy please! I'm sorry no!"

Since it was hot, I was wearing shorts so I started screaming bloody murder when my dad's shoe made contact with my tiny pale legs. He slapped me hard and fast and I kicked my legs and cried and screaming for him to stop.