July 7th

April 30

This bullshit since I was 3 years old. I saw the same thing. My dad punching, beating, whipping my mom, even threatening to kill her at times. He'd force her to do awful things, sometimes right in front of me, and he's beat and do the same to me. At 3 fucking years old. I remember how painful it was. There was tons of pain. Excruciating pain. Every single day, if I'd do even one thing slightly wrong. You could say I grew a resistance to the pain after a while. I had to. Because the older I got, the worse he'd beat me. Sometimes, I could barely breathe, and the world would start to fade away into black. Sometimes, I really thought that it would be the end for me. But it never was, unfortunately. I had to continue living, day by day, the same pattern, the same pain, the same fear and worry. If there was a hell, I was already in it. What my sin was? I still have no idea. I had to learn how to toughen up, and I did. But, unfortunately, not many people would want to approach me because of this. They avoided me like the plague. They were scared of me. But then I met Mika. She was the only person who would approach me. Even she seemed nervous to do this, but we started talking, and, eventually, we became good friends. Best friends. It felt so good to finally have someone by my side. To feel like there was at least one person who believed in me, and wasn't afraid of me or trying to hurt me. My dad wouldn't let me out though. And if he caught me trying to get out, he'd beat me until unconsciousness. I managed to find ways around him, specifically when he'd drink himself to the point where he fell unconscious, and I'd sneak to Mika's place, getting her to hang out with me. But one time. . . This one time. . . It went too far. That. . . That was the day my mother died.