Growing up in a black household

Growing up in a black household

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WpMetadataNoticeDernière publication sam., août 15, 2020
being black is a struggle already but when you grow up in a black household it even worse. everything you do is judged by your parents and they always point out your flaws. it's always that's disrespectful when you try to stand up for your self. you get treated like a slave you have to do everything and they think this is the best parenting method but in reality, they're teaching their kids to be cold-hearted and closed off from the world because they have been judged so much that they are afraid of being judge by the outside world. you can't be yourself in either so your stuck trying to be someone your not, and I can speak from past experiences that at some point in time you're going to break down either in your room all alone or in front of the parents and god forbid you to do that because they not going to comfort you they're going to tell you there is no reason for you to be crying and after so many years you just go numb and you're emotions get hidden far far away from where no one can see them which isn't good you need to cry sometimes but when you grow up in a black household you're looked at as if you're weak, so here's a story of a black girl trying to escape her black household. Ps: some of these things happened to me in real life
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DIABOLIC SERIES 3 All my life I've lost my breath. It would happen over the simplest things, if I stretched too high to catch a ball, lifted something for too long, if I sneezed, if I talked. Other times I would loose my breath because I had a panic attack, or was yelling or being yelled at, if I was exerting myself on a physical level. Having the wind knocked out of me is a familiar feeling. But I didn't truly know what it felt like to loose the air in my lungs, loose the feeling that has kept my alive my entire life. I didn't loose it when I fell in love, I didn't loose it when I found out one drunken night with the girl I love would mean a baby, I didn't loose it when I found out that I'd actually be a father. No, I lost that when she told me that she doesn't love me. When she spit in my face how much she can't stand me, how I've ruined her life, that she doesn't want me in any aspect. I'm not her 'type' whatever that means, seeing as she quite willingly had sex with me. Her saying this made this ugly, lonely and depressing thought hit my diaphragm. Violet Thompson is carrying my child. And she despises me for it. The way I came to this conclusion was simple, Nonnie- -that's what I call her, since her middle name's Noel and I wanted something to call her that if I shouted it in the middle of a crowd, only she would turn to and know it's me- -told me that all she wants is someone there. A father for her baby, a physical presence. Not a mind, personality. Not a person. A body. A shell. I've been a dead man walking. And I was that shell, was just a body... until I found him.

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