☀︎︎Lɪɢʜᴛ☀︎︎ ʟᴏᴜɪs ᴘᴀʀᴛʀɪᴅɢᴇ

☁︎︎ One ☁︎︎

                                                                        9.4.2020

Alivia's POV:

We are all taught from a young age 'life is valuable' and 'life is gift' and do not take the privilege of life for granted, for it could all be taken from you at any moment.  I never had the  chance to make a name or a living for myself.  

Since the day I was born my fate was not in my hands.  My life was not my choice, but my parents choice.  Sure I had everything I wanted and needed handed to me, but it came a hard price.  My parents, more like my father, had a name and reputation to live up to.  If anyone got in his way of success he would sure let you have is exasperation.  Success, popularity, and business is what mattered to him.  Having a family was just another thing on his To-Do list.  My mother lived in the shadows of his light.  Following him blindly like a puppy, doing what ever he told her to do like a child.  Me?  I'm the unwanted child, the mistake, the outcome of a night filled with bad decisions and a ripped condom. 

My parents make it a daily ritual to remind me I was not supposed to happen.  To them, or at least to me, it seems, I'm am the root cause to their failed marriage the reason they fight.  I mean I hear that from them themselves. 

I am not innocent myself.  I know that.  I've been pushed away, ignored, and overall neglected and my solution hasn't ever exactly helped me, just create a distraction for the time being.  I've been in and out of suspension all through out my school "career".  My parents did not appreciate any of my acting out.  It reflected poorly on their image in my parents views.  They did not spare any punishment when I got into trouble with the law a few  times.  As I got into my teen years my acting out only seem to got worse and the incessant fighting between my parents only got more intense. 

Thoughts of my life then was, and still is, the reason I have trouble sleeping every night.  I can not help my mind wandering back and reliving the days the fucked me up and made me the awful person I and support of popular belief, consider myself today.

Looking up at the ceiling I rolled my eyes in frustration of another sleepless night.  I pulled my sheets over my head and let out a tired sigh before ultimately getting annoyed and pushed them off of my upper body.  Brushing away the thoughts I sat up from my covers, pushed them aside, and moved to the bottom edge of my bed closet to the window.  

It was early in the morning, maybe around five thirty, I sat on my small bed looking out my window at the growing sun.  At times like these I felt at peace.  None of the nurses or any other patients were around to bother me.  The building was almost merely quiet.  It's where I had time to think and gather my thoughts and emotions.  That's at least what my group therapist said that is what I am supposed to being doing at times like this.

My nurse, Walter, said it was an "healthy outlet"  to write down how I felt and what I was thinking, but I never made the effort to do so.  Walter is really the only nurse in this facility I trust and talk to.  For my sixteenth birthday he gifted me a small, black leather, writing journal.  It was a nice gift.  That I never use.  It lays on my desk and I never touch it and I don't plan on doing so anytime soon.  Walter takes care of me and makes sure I have everything I need. He's almost like a father figure, more of one than my actual father is or was. I mean he's really at the age to be my grandfather, but none the less in my eyes he more than just my nurse, to me he is my father I never had the chance of having.