The Deep End

Trepidation.

TW: ED & Abuse.

Trepidation:

(noun;{with a reference to a feeling or emotion} a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen).

5:30 AM.

June 14, 2013.

I know it's been a while.

Actually, it has been a really long while.

I hope this doesn't make me a worse of a person than I already am.

Years have passed, But feelings of emptiness never leave my rib-cage.

The worst part of this all, is currently I am nothing but a breathing creature.

Just breathing, the urge of feeling alive has died in me.

It took some time and effort but it helps with handling the pain.

Today is a big day. I turn 17 As if that changes a thing in me.

I grew up way too long ago, so this isn't something new.

I haven't been completely alone to be precise, I grew into having many friends, although none were considered as family.

I grew up to be stronger, prettier, smarter & everything you'd never expect me to be.

I took care of myself, I found a job & spent the money on myself.

Even though it seemed like I had my life altogether, I didn't.

I never did & I don't think I ever will, But that doesn't bother me anymore. Nothing does.

I was seen as the smart, pretty cool girl that didn't care about anyone or anything & I actually didn't.

I was impressed by nothing aligning with being intimated by nothing.

I was only afraid of myself & of the cold-blooded monster I've evolved into.

I sighed as I got out of my bed, my dark brown curls all tangled & messy from the sleepless night I've surpassed.

Crystal brown eyes staring out the window into the sunrise blankly, secretly hoping today won't be as any other day of my life, which sucked basically.

I had a job shift during the night so I don't think this day would be told apart from any other day in my life.

I stand straight, glaring at my reflection as the bathroom lights flicker.
"what a headache" I mumble to myself grunting.

I was tired, tired of being there for everyone and no one being there for me. Just because I don't show my emotions doesn't mean I don't have any feelings. It was killing me leisurely, the monster within me resting on my chest and back; leaving me hopeless and in agonising pain.

It was obvious I was stirring trouble within a storm, I needed to distract myself from my parents divorce. Avoiding my feelings and expressing them through violence, manipulation and gaslighting towards people that think they can walk over me.

It was carved so beautifully on my lean body, marking its territory with years of domestic and emotional abuse; killing my inner child instead of healing it.

The sudden flashbacks hit me, the memories slowly starting to be clearer; throwing punches left and right to my guts. I was reliving my past, I could see my 12 year old self; the first time I caught my dad cheating by mistake. The fights that fell on my head as a 16 year old teenager, the punches I took that left me bruised for weeks.

The eating disorder I developed and still struggle with because of my mother and her obsession with perfection in my self-image. The hatred towards myself, the feeling of guilt as I was always blamed by my mother for the divorce.

I am graduating and I am the only student that will have to seat my parents on different sides of the theatre to avoid any embarrassing conflicts in front of my peers; nobody knew anything about me, they weren't going to find out like this.

It would ruin my reputation and status within my grade, I was the top dog; they listened to me, feared me and respected me.

The people who were supposed to protect me from this cruel world are the first people to hurt me, but they're doing this to protect us right? I might be brainwashed, it doesn't matter; I don't feel anymore. Everything tastes the same, the sadness leaves a bas taste in my mouth; making me nauseous whenever I remember my childhood.

4:30 PM.

June 14, 2013.

I arrive "home", a house that never felt like home; not now, not ever. It was exhausting, attempting to understand my mother; putting up with everything she says.

"You shouldn't eat all of that, you'll suddenly one day blow up and not be skinny and skinny is beautiful" she says to me while I have my first meal of the day.

My tiny wrists and underweight body clinging to the spoon for life, attempting to save itself from the thoughts my mom has created in my brain about my weight and body image.

As I eat, not finishing my plate. I squirm to the nearest restroom, I stick my finger in my mouth and purge out everything sitting peacefully in my stomach. I sit down, my body on the cold tile floor, my eyes sinking with tears as my body cries for help and for me to be easier on myself.

It was almost like I was killing myself slowly; my hair falling out in clumps, my skin as sad and pale as it could ever be, my constant headaches and nauseous mood swings no matter where I am.

It was very lonely, I had nobody; I was there for all my friends but they never noticed. No one noticed my cry for salvation, my cry from freedom. I could see my ribs poking through my paper skin, my hips peeking out; it was horrifying, I didn't like it. It was what my mother wanted me to look like.

I've already lost the relationship with my father, my mother was already dead to me but I was trying so hard to maintain the relationship with my mother. It was extreme work, a marriage; you had to be smart, you had to be cunning and most importantly as my mother taught me :

"You were born alone and you will die alone"