March 7th, 2013by Voice
From a time before I could remember, I’ve been tormented.Â At home, my father would abuse me -not physically, but emotionally and verbally.Â But that hurt more than the real abuse my step-mother would give me on a near-daily basis.Â I was moved from the front of the front of my family’s love, to the basement of our new house, while my stepsister got a real bedroom, with a heater, with a real floor, a real bed, and a window.
Every day I woke up to objects being thrown at me because my new sister didn’t want to touch me -afraid she would catch what I had.Â I wasn’t diseased.Â I wasn’t sick, I promise!Â Is what I would tell her.Â She would laugh at me, and lock my door so I would have to use the back door that was covered in spiders and mud and who knows what else.
I told my father about this the first time it happened.Â He just laughed, calling me a fucking idiot for making up stories about her.Â We were family, act like it.Â So I went to school with bruises and cuts and tears and even broken bones from my stepmother.
No one cared.Â They just laughed and called meÂ names, shoving me down stairs and into corners.
My first friend wasn’t really a friend.Â Sure, she saw the bruises and the pain, but never said anything.Â She just told me it was part of growing up.
This was in third grade.Â I wasn’t that old when I first started hating myself, started crying myself to sleep wishing my knight would rescue me -or even my grandparents, who had told me they would help.Â They never did.
No one ever did.
It wasn’t until highschool that I actually started harming myself.Â I couldn’t cut.Â I can’t stand seeing the sight of my own blood, so I burned.Â 254 burns and ten years later, I’m still burning.
There are burns on top of burns, even some in places I was sure someone would see and hoped they would.Â I needed help, but no one would listen, no one ever would; not when you were the 200lb girl with glasses and dirty clothes that were hand sewn.
It wasn’t until my last year of highschool that the dam finally broke.Â A girl stabbed me in the hall, yelling out “Oh look!Â The stupid dog’s bleeding, better call the vet!”Â afterwords.Â You’d think someone would help, get a teacher or principle, or even stand up to the girl for harming some innocent student.
You ever heard nearly a hundred people laughing at once?