Originally Written: SUN 06/10/07
I keep feeling like that little girl, lost and helpless, and wandering through life waiting for the day when I’ll be free, when things will change, when everything will be okay and I won’t have to worry. When I won’t spend my days struggling to stay one step ahead of this game that wasn’t created to be won.
‘When will I be enough,’ she asks?
How do I behave, who do I need to be, how can I change to make this all stop? How much do I need to worry myself into stomach inflammation, how many sleepless nights, when will I be enough? When will I be enough for her? How many beers, how much money, how many fights, how many beatings, how much? How much dragging me around by my hair, striking, punching, screaming, throwing, breaking — how much?
I’m 13 years old, in my room listening to rock music through my headphones, writing bad poetry, wanting to die. Wanting to die. Dreading, anticipating, biding my time.
I promised myself. Never again. She always said, ‘Never make a promise you can’t keep.’ Thats why she never promised anything.
June 12, 2007 at 7:02 pm
I do not believe there is any abuse survivor who does not ask those exact same questions, if i was perfect this would cease. But perfection would only serve to bring more condemnation, the teen sitting on her bed is the same teen who grew up somewhere along the line she grew the trick is finding the tene still stuck there and reuniting her with the one who grew up.
The observer