Beaten, Betrayed, Violated.

Middle School Sucks

I was so excited to finally be in middle school. I felt like my whole life would change, and I would have friends, and life would be good.
Instead, I ended up being an outcast for my red hair and pale skin.
I was shunned, no one would voluntarily sit with me, besides other outcasts. Half the time, I ate lunch to avoid being picked on, or getting into fights. I was also one of the only people who weren't black in my school. I was a walking billboard proclaiming "Come one! Come all! Fuck with the white girl today!"
Unfortunately, self defense was something my father had drilled into my head that summer, and my martial arts instructor before that. I was only supposed to defend myself if necessary, but my father took fighting way too seriously. He would encourage, no, commend me, if I came home with bruises on my knuckles.
Being bullied was hard, but honestly, every single guy who fucked with me, now would give his right arm to be inside of me. Puberty did me well, but their shitty souls won't change.
My school was just down the road. My father timed the exact amount of time it took to walk home, and if I was even 5 minutes late, he would beat me with his studded belt.
It was my birthday, and I was going to go skating at the roller rink. It was my favorite thing to do, because my parents couldn't skate, so they actually let me do something without spying on me and preventing me from having normal social interaction.
I asked my if I could borrow her straightener, and a shirt. She lent me it, and a black tank top that was pretty average. Not low cut. No midriff showing. But I was beginning to go through puberty, and my paranoid schizophrenic father banned me from wearing tank tops unless they came up to my throat. I wasn't allowed to wear skirts or shorts out of the house. Only pants or capris. I could wear a shirt with leggings, and I wasn't allowed to wear makeup. I wasn't even allowed to own a bathing suit, or any under garments besides a white bra, and children's underwear with cartoons and flowers on them. He smashed the straightener and told me that only whores did their hair. But Angi did hers.... My father was seriously sick in the head.
I wasn't allowed to make a single decision.
I had to ask for literally everything, and say ma'am, sir, please thank you. Even if all I wanted was water, or a meal. I had to ask before sitting in my room. Ask before reading. I even had to ask to go onto the back porch and get fresh air.
My parents had me grounded twenty four seven.
They took all of my books. I had to ask for them. If I touched the tv or looked at it, they would beat me. If I forgot to do their job, taking care of the kids and cooking, cleaning, I was beaten. I was miserable. It was around then, that I started trying to work up the courage to take my own life, by cutting myself. Deeper and deeper each time. I would tell myself that the pain was just a distraction, but really, I was preparing myself to take the plunge and be with my mother again. Until my father and step bitch seen one of them.
That day, my father tried to beat it out of me. My ass was bleeding, and I couldn't sit or walk right for days.
"This hurts me more than it hurts you."
He always says that, but what hurts worse than someone who is supposed to love you, care for you, and protect you, beat you and demean you? What hurts worse than coming to hate the only person you have left as family?