Ãœberdosis

I can hardly place these thoughts into words, into sentences. I am incapable of being happy with a free education, food, home, clothes, and people all around wanting to take care of me. I am not abused, not regularly anyways. A text from my mom sometimes: I must b a total loser since u stay with Mike. Mike is my father, but far from a winner. If this child game is nothing but who wins and who doesn’t, I’d suggest that they are the ones in need of extensive therapy. Not me, I’m their child, they spawned me out of their supposed love. Raised me, taught me the basics, and sent me to school. When I cried over something small, as a child. I was comforted. I knew for a while there that my daddy would take care of us and keep us warm. I remember smelling his white work shirts, just to catch a whiff of my daddy during the day. I remember him telling me to stand up for myself in school, when I was called fat. Dad told me to never let someone degrade you like that. Mom was in the kitchen, concocting the perfect meal for the night. She was always so beautiful right before she fell asleep. Calm, quiet, warm, small, fragile, perfect. Long, dark hair that smelled of a light shampoo, and to top it off, her nigttime lotion. That smell sticks with me to this day. I was so innocent, protected, and loved while laying there under her arm. She is the epitome of beauty, femininity, and total euphoria felt just before I fell into my subconscious. Mutter….where are you? Vater….where are you?