I heard the footsteps like an elephant storming through the wild. That's when I knew she was coming. That...is how I always knew; there wasn't a silent bone in her body and I was scared. There was no where to hide because she doesn't give up until she gets what she wants and right now that was me. She appeared, my eyes widening, my heart racing, and I took a chance like I always do. I ran, but she first gripped my finger and I screamed.
I can't always remember the words so I wont try, but the pain and the feeling of every memory always remains so vivid. I remember it being my fault that day, like it always is. It seems like I can't ever do any thing right. Maybe it's because that wasn't the first time and I have a fighter soul somewhere deep down in my soul that makes me stand up and stick to my wit. Maybe it's because I am just stupid like she always said I was so harshly. Maybe..just maybe I became so delusional to think that whatever was coming to me, I always deserved.
Have you ever been so scared of someone that you can't tell anyone because they just wouldn't believe it? So scared that every move you make is going to cause you even more pain? So scared that you actually believe all the lies they've ever told you just so the conversation would be over? Ever have memories so vivid, you cry every single time you trigger a flashback? I don't cry because most of the time those tears aren't there, but ever so often certain people, certain memories have the ability to make me cry so hard that I wonder how I have more left,
I try to fight, but I'm not strong enough. She doesn't like that so she takes the fight right out of me. I'm being slammed into a wall, my head and other bones aching. I reach out in pain as a sound escapes my lips, but she's not satisfied yet. Next thing I know I''m being dragged out of my room and down the steps by my hair, my back hitting every step on the way down as I flail. The tears fall faster now and I can't seem to get them to stop. Everything becomes a blur and the next thing I remember is the kitchen. We're both screaming, but I can't make out what exactly those words are exept one sentence. "WHAT ARE YOU CRYING FOR?" she screams. I only register being in the fetal position being smacked, maybe a punch or two, but I cant make it out clear enough.
There are so many memories I can't remember what age I was there, but the pain is still there.. in my heart. It's crazy how something that happened so many years ago still affects me so much. *sigh* It's just another nightmare I try to tell myself, but it's not. It really happened to me,
My name is Hope and I have been hurt badly pretty much my whole life, but as much as I want it to, I've been made to believe that I haven't. There are people all over the world without families, out on the street, and being hurt worse than me, so why should I think that my story matters? It's not abuse if it's not a closed fist right? It's discipline, right? It never seems to matter about throwing a kid around. It doesn't seem to matter after you hit a certain age.
No.
It doesn't matter that it never left a mark on the outside, but if you only saw all the scars on the inside, you would have something else to say. You wouln't think so fondly of it then. Would you? I am so broken that I can't even begin to describe it, but you can imagine it. Just imagine that day except starting a lot younger and with a little less tossing around. Imagine being scared of the person you're meant to love. The only person who is ever supposed to show it to you.
Being broken by the person you try so hard to please does more damage when that's the only person in your life. It ruins you when that person is.....your mother.
