Our Canadian Love Story (ON HOLD)

Prologue

The pain. The tears. The feeling of guilt mixed with pure fury. Pure anger and hatred.

I know those are strong words, but I'm not sure if there is any other way of of putting it lightly, yet with the truth.

What kind of mother acts like that? What kinds of mother says things like that to her daughter? Her only daughter. What kind of mother on this Earth digs her nails into her own daughter's flesh. Deep enough to draw blood. And, out of what? Embarrassment? Disappointment? Despise? Hatred?

You know what the most saddest thing is? I actually wish that she had used something else to cut my arm. Something that would go deep enough to hit one of my main arteries. Maybe the blood that would gush out from my wrists would make her understand. Make her stop. Make her see the cold hearted monster she had become.

Ha! Who am I kidding? If that happened per chance, and I had gotten to the hospital in time, she would act considerate. Act like a loving mother in front of the doctors and nurses. But would she genuinely, deep down, feel guilty? Would she change, knowing that out of her pure rage and with the right amount of force, she could have ended my life?

A few weeks. A couple of months tops. That's all the time I would give her before the turns back into the mother I know and hate. Before she goes back to hating every, single thing I do. Before she goes back to critizing all the things I do and achieve.

Or not say anything at all. But that would be better than having to hear such hurtful things.

I honestly wonder sometimes, if she really loves me. Of course she doesn't love me anymore. Not afer what she blamed me for. There was no way she could ever forgive me. 

That one night changed everything. In the dark and miserable grey weather of London, my world seized to be the bubble of joy I had been living for so long. Instead it became a cruel game of blame, all thrown towards me. I was blamed for what happened that night. And the woman I call my mum, has not let me go since.

It's at times like these that I wish we had stayed in Australia. With the rest of my family. The REAL, true family. The family who would do anything and everything for me, but yet not spoiling me. My loving Grandma who would make me the best food at my wish.

My uncle who would spoil me with ice cream, but still teach me how to clean my teeth properly. Or my aunty who woud give me little pamper parties with make up and hair.

It's at times like these that I wish I had someone left to protect me. Someone that would would be brave enough to stand up for me.  Actually sit down and LISTEN to me. But I know that will never be possible.

And it is at times like these that I wish I could just run away. Somewhere far away. I could catch the next flight out of here, on the way to Canada. Be safe. Go to a real high school. Have a loving family.

I could live with my aunty and cousins. My older cousin could be the sister I never had. Who would understand me, because she knows exactly why I feel like this. Leaving would mean a different life. A life away from my current one.

A life free of pain.