ELEVEN
- Reads 40
- Votes 18
- Parts 6
Every time that I wake up in the middle of the night, in cold sweat, wondering if what I did to save myself was the right thing to do or not, I remind myself that had I not done it, there would be 12 blood-covered photos instead of 11 and twelve dead bodies instead of ELEVEN.
We often find ourselves talking about the people who leave us, hating them because they refused to love us. But my story is about the ones who refuse to leave even when asked to, who hold us captive with their love, against our will. A story of abuse, torture, blood and gore all simply christened as 'a father's love'.
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mentalabuse
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