My journal. It is where all of my secrets lie. It is where my life story plays out over and over again. From the worst thing that has ever happened to me all the way to the best thing. My journal is special. My journal is everything. It is the book of my life, the thing I need to keep going. I release my thoughts into these pages. I release my pain, I release my past, and most of all I relive a part of me that was once ignorant. I learn from these pages, so it is time for you, to now learn from these pages as well. Welcome, to my journal...
Dear Journal,
It's been a while, I finally made it to my senior year of high school. The 'fabulous' grade twelve. I keep fighting my way through life when a lot of the time I have not a single clue why. All that is around the corner is just another joke about how easy life is. However, I have yet to laugh.
I lost my father when I was about eight years old. I would go through everyday telling myself that it would be okay, it had to be. I told myself that things could only get better. It could not possibly get worse. I made myself believe it.. I believed in nothing but that for years. Until the day that things got worse. So much more horrific.
I know what some of you are thinking, "I am so sorry about your father's death," blah, blah, blah. Yeah, well, he didn't die. He is very much alive actually. Living and breathing. He was a great man until that precious day... March fourth 2004.
Let me tell you what happened that 'spectacular' day. It was my fifth birthday and I was excited. I loved birthday parties. I would be ecstatic to have had one everyday. I mean, why wouldn't you? You're a kid, you get to have cake, candy, all the fun activities! Most of all, you are the first on the priority list of the day, no matter where you went nor what you did. They were extraordinaire. Birthday parties were like the best rapture a kid could dream of.
My dad was supposed to take me out for my birthday party that day. Instead, all of my miniature friends had fun. I couldn't show up because my dad had popped the cap and began to drink. I told him, " It's okay daddy," as I pat him on the back, "We can go tomorrow." He smiled at me and nodded, he didn't speak a word, just a nod.
Even though we didn't go to the party, my mom made me a birthday cake. By the time is was ready to be devoured my father was off his rocker dunk. He stumbled and slurred his way to the table. I was already seated and waiting for everyone to get around the cake for me to blow out the candles. My dad sat next to me, the ball of excitement.
It wasn't long before everyone finally got around the cake. I stared at it for a moment, my little innocent mind still believing in those stupid little birthday wishes. I was almost done telling myself the wish in my head when I felt cold finger tips on my thigh beneath my dress. It slowly crawled its way up my skin until I got too uncomfortable. I looked down at my leg to find my fathers hand making it to my "no-no square." I looked up at him with confusion. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, but before I could speak he put his fingers on my lips and slurred, "Jusst blow the candlessss ouuut."
I did just that, I blew out those god dammed candles.
The cold began to crawl some more until.. I jumped. I looked at him like he was crazy. "Daddy what are you doing?" I squirmed. I tried to move. He got mad. Daddy never got this mad at me. He never looked at me with those eyes. He never saw me as a nuisance. I was the youngest.. I was his princess. I was supposed to be the favorite. He was supposed to love me more.
He hit me. Hard.
He hurt his princess..
My mother came running to me while screaming at him. I wasn't paying attention to anything other than the pain on my face anymore. I didn't care about the cake, I didn't care about the parties, I didn't care about who did what, I didn't care about why. All I cared about, was that it hurt.
I ran to the bathroom and locked myself inside. Looking into the mirror I found the huge whelp of red. The handprint on my face was obvious. It instantly started bruising and swelling.
I hadn't started crying yet. I looked at myself one last time and that's when it happened. The waterfall. The salt streams. I despised crying. I hated the way it felt. It would make my throat hurt, breathing would be difficult. Everything got ten times more difficult than anything I have ever known. Talking was hard, seeing was almost impossible, walking was hard. Nothing would work when I cried.
Okay, that's all for today.
I close my journal. Now I get to think about my next entry, what else will I write? What else will happen? What's next to come inside of a nightmare?
