A Look Inside

In The Beginning...

So I'll start off with a basic back story of how I became the sixteen year old girl I am today. I'm not sure how it's going to end, but I need a place to vent.

One thing is for sure: this is going to be super messy and all over the place.

My headspace is a war zone, that's constantly battling my heart. Thoughts are thrown every which way, dreams cloud my vision (so does doubt), it's absolute chaos.

September 18, 2002- the day I brought into this shit world. You know I quite the happy child; I had thousands of toys it seemed, my parents were happy together (or so I thought), and my dad introduced me to my favorite genre of music: Rock n roll.

Now I was always shy as I never had any siblings to bring me out of my comfort zone. I was also smaller than most (I was born two months premature, I was told that I was a miracle child- obviously my purpose wasn't to keep my parents together cause they end up getting divorced). I remember that I would always hide behind my mom's legs when in public.

Too bad I still couldn't hide away from social interaction.

Anyway, all was pretty good up until July 10, 2010. That was the day that my Grandma June passed away. She was my best friend, the woman I absolutely adored.

Even to this very day, she is the strongest woman I have ever met.

After my eighth birthday in 2010, I read a text my mom had sent one of her coworkers- her and my dad were getting a divorce. It sucked that I had to find that out from a damn text message.

Of course I was going to live with my mom after the split, but boy do I wish I could change that around. My mom had a boyfriend that moved in to our one bedroom apartment before the ink even dried on the divorce papers. Not only did she move on pretty damn fast (which now that I'm older, I kinda suspect that she was cheating on dad), my father and I had found multiple empty alcohol bottles in our kitchen cabinets. I also remember mom always going to the liquor store and coming out with a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. This would later on cause problems with her pancreas.

A few months went by of mom's boyfriend, Tim, living with us that I figured out that he had anger issues. He used to get mad at the neighbors who lived above us and would yell cuss words at them. Man do I wish I would've listened to the first red flags I spotted.

Mom, Tim and I had moved into our new apartment in 2011. We lived there for about two years or so. I finally had my own room! But with that came the inevitable darkness that crept into my mind.

I was nine years old when Tim cussed me out with every swear word under the sun. I had made a joke is all, and he shouted at me like I was someone he was about to put a bullet through. They had picked me up from my dad's house, which I had a blue heeler/boston terrier mix puppy (her name was Lily). I had placed my small, right foot on tim's arm and told him that I had stepped in dog poop with that shoe. But I actually hadn't with either of my shoes.

No one has ever raised their voice at me like he had. I was downright terrified. Once he went inside the apartment, my mom kept telling me that everything was okay, just go inside the house. But I was so scared. I couldn't stop crying and I was shaking like crazy.

I still feel a hint of fear whenever I hear adults start to raise their voices and argue.

When I was eleven years old, for the first time I saw Tim lay his filthy hands on my mom. They were fighting pretty loudly. He had shoved mom into the wall and she had scratched his face (and apparently kicked him in the balls). He had pulled a hand full of her hair out. She blamed herself for him getting physical.

We should have left then.

I remember that year they began to get into fights more often. 2013, was a hectic year. Hell, I even had my first attempt ever at self harm. I tried to use my house key for my dad's but it didn't work to well. But then I found this arrowhead necklace that I had bought from a local festival. That actually brought blood to the surface.

In that same year I found out my mom was pregnant. On March 20, 2014 my baby brother, Tanner Ray was born.

He was an ugly fucker when he came out of the womb. I blame that on Tim.

We moved into a trailer house a few months before Tanner was born.

A few months after he came home from the hospital, I remember mom and Tim started yelling at each other as they were getting out of tim's truck. Mom, Tanner and I were on the porch while Tim was next to his Chevy. I unlocked the door while my "anxiety" (I've never been tested, can I call it that?) was at an all time high. I knew that I had to get my brother inside and away from their red, rage atmosphere.

I had taken his car seat and brought him in the bathroom with me, I wasn't going to let them bring a baby into that kind of environment.

As the next two years played out, I grew an immense hatred for Tim and my relationship with my mom wasn't much better.

I fell into a place of numbness. I self harmed just so that I could feel something. Anything. Even if it was pain and sadness. I just couldn't stand feeling nothing at all.

My mom had fed me lies about my dad, which I shouldn't have believed. She told me she was going to request child support. I agreed because Tim made my mother quit her job and he couldn't save his money for shit. I remember I had to sneak food in from my dad's so Tim wouldn't think mom had money stashed somewhere.

My mom and dad had went to court in 2016. It was two weeks before my 14th birthday. It was so far a great year. I had seen my favorite band, Twenty One Pilots, in concert, and had an amazing trip to Nebraska. But that quickly went down the drain.

September 28, 2016- I was sitting in my history class when I got called to the office- third hour. My mom was there with bags of my things scattered in the school's office. She was crying and told me to call my father and tell him to come get me.

The words that really keep floating around my brain on rerun are: "Do you hate me that much?" "Do you know what you've done?" "You can't see me or your brother for a long time."

She made it seem like I was at fault. Like I was selfish for wanting to leave but she didn't know that the week before that, I was at the lowest of lows.

I did not think I would live to my fourteenth birthday, which was a week before things went to shit. I had prayed to God, asking him for a way out of that house because if I did not get out, I was going to kill myself.

He heard me because that next day, my dad had asked me to come live with him.

And I did.

Now, although I am glad to be out of there, I regret leaving my little brother with them.

I am writing this now on August 12, 2019. September 28 of this year will mark three years since I have seen him in person.

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

My mom chose that monster over me, her own flesh and blood, because she believed that deep down he loved us.

Well mom, everything is just fucking fine now, isn't?

Nope? Didn't think so.