I’m gonna write this stuff down, so I don’t forget when I’m old how bad it got. Today, this day, April 14, 1959, I’m turnin this around. My family’s not gonna destroy me.
I’m done. Game’s over. I call the shots from now on. No one’s gonna keep messing with my head. I’m 12, not a kid anymore , and it’s time to stop carin if they like me, ‘cause they don’t.
I hear bad stuff happens to kids all the time. Like dad beats up kids when he’s loaded. Or mom splits and disappears. Or coach starts messing with the girls on the team. None of that stuff happened to me. I guess everyone’s got their share of trouble.
It’s the words. The lies. The accusations. The blaming. The screaming. The putdowns. The name callin. No scars I can show anyone. No law broken here, so I can’t call the cops.
No one knows. No one cares. No one hears. No one sees. ‘Cept my sister and me. And I beg God to make me deaf and blind. It’d be so much easier.
First memory of my life that I clearly recollect? It was the night my little sis took her first steps. You’d think that’d make ‘em happy, since it’s a big deal to a small kid. But either mom or dad messed it up by sayin the wrong thing, and it all started. They were pullin on me and pushin me back and forth between the two of them. Sayin “you take her”.. and then “No, you take her.”
Pushin and pullin me while I cried for them to stop. Did they think I was invisible? Did they really think I had no feelings? That was before I found out I was supposed to have none. So they could do all they wanted and not feel bad about it I guess.
You can hide your feelings all right. You can hold them close like a hand of cards. But they’re still feelings. They still hurt. They ‘re all still down there, waitin to see the light of day. That’s why I write. Some day someone’s gonna see this and make a law. Say nice things to people, or go to jail. I’d like that.
In fourth grade I fainted. Went to school and my teacher talking about how the heart works. How important blood is to the body. What she didn’t know is I saw a bunch of blood in my mom’s bed that morning, and I was wondering why. Was dad gonna kill her? He yelled enough bad stuff all the time, it seemed like that was possible.
The sight and smell of blood still gets to me and I have to sit down. I worry about people. Why can’t this world just be nicer?
I’m lookin in the mirror now though, and gonna toughen up. Being twelve does that to a girl. I’ve had it with this family. They hate me. I make good grades, say “yes sir” and “no mam” , and it isn’t enough to make them happy. Even have some good friends. Not the bad kind. The good kind. Nothing works.
Today I found out my mom hid my trophy. I got it a my girls’ camp for being the best camper of the Intermediates. I had a good moment there. I couldn’t wait to show it to my mom. She’d finally be all proud of me. But she just said… “the camp got it wrong. What were they thinking? You never deserved anything like this. I’m not letting you go back there. “
I knew she was wrong this time. I slept with my trophy under my pillow, and it was real. It really was. But I can’t prove it now. She threw it away. It’s gone. Now I realize I have to take care of me, cause no one else will.
I’m done. Oh, I’m gonna live here. I’m gonna grow up and leave though and never look back. These people are sick. I want to find some real love out there.
Please God show me something good. Are you really real? Do you really care? Do you hear my crying? Did I really get that trophy? Did they make a mistake? Do you at least love me? I need to know.
Otherwise, I give up.
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