Happy Birthday Panic - PART TWO (story fiction)
by Margarita Shamrakov
myspace.com/margarita

HOPE

What is my hope? I had a very hard childhood, I lived with my mom who had an abusive boyfriend, and then I came to my dad, who told me if only I let him know that I had a hard childhood, he might have treated me better. But it is my fault that he treated me bad.
I read this today somewhere online that people who abuse you often tell you that it was your fault somehow. My dad stated that I lied to him, and if I told him the truth at 17 that I was running away form an abusive home he would have treated me much better and more sensitive. After all it was my fault anyway?

What is my hope? Is there a GOD? What is the truth? I prayed many nights, and it does raise my spirit, however the next day I am brought down again. I guess I am not enlightened. Once I heard someone say " It would be very hard to deal with every external problem, to solve them you must cover up the whole earth in linen so you do not cut your feet. Isn't it easier to just cover your feet in linen?" How true...
Sure, outside world does not define you or me, and we let people influence us, but I am not strong enough and wise enough not take what my father tells me to heart.

So where is the hope for everyone who is damaged, and hurt, and abused?
Where is the justice??

Before 17, before I immigrated to America I have seen my dad only couple of times in my life and all my memories of him even in childhood are "fearful".

My hope, my joy, my love was only music. 10 years old, I am in the most prestigious music school in the Ukraine. My very good friend Sonia and I have the same piano teacher. I played Sonia my songs, she was the first person to fall in love with them.
And even in the future when we had a fight she always said, even when I am mad at you I always love your songs. She was my first inspiration, she told me it was good. She learned all my songs by heart.

-Sonia my dad is coming to visit me.
-Awesome we have to practice our concert for him.

-Yes we do, for about 3 weeks, we would practice my song called " Clouds". We sang harmony, Sonia, even helped me to write an interesting chord progression.
We practiced every day, we waited. He came. He listened. He laughed. He did not like it.
It was not good enough. Even then, I did not know this man, but something felt wrong, not love, not care, not warmth. This felt cold and cruel. Sadness swept my heart, I tried so heart to please this man who is my father. And I hated to kiss him. But if I did not tell him that I loved him and kissed him, he always was upset, even though he did not raise me, and came to visit only once every 5 years. Kissing a stranger and telling him how much I loved him, sucked. But if I did not, he complained to my mom.

I am 7 years old. I am visiting him for few days, and I miss my grandma, I wrote her a letter asking her :" Grandma take me home".
My dad saw this letter in my hand.

"What is it"? he said
"Just a letter to my grandma"?
"Let me read it"
" No, please do not"
"What are you telling her"?

I lied. I said I am telling her how much I like it here. He opened the letter, in a rage, he grabbed my hand, ran to the train station, bought the first ticket, put me on the train, 8 hours ride, brought me home and left.

Even then I was afraid of him, and now when I am 30 years old, I am still afraid.

And there is no one I can tell this to. It is too heavy for my friends, and some do not understand. It is too heavy for people. Many years of therapy do not help..

Is there hope? Is there justice? How can I recover and be beautiful again, when I was called ugly too many times.