A Girl Named Hope

“Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they're supposed to help you discover who you are.” - Bernice Johnson Reagon

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Everyone had always admired my hair. My hair was a beautiful cascading waterfall of pure golden sunshine. The long locks fell to my waist in gentle waves, and glistened magically whenever light caught them. I valued my hair more than anything; day after day I would brush my luscious curls, counting every stroke of my brush until I reached at least one hundred. Every girl at my school gazed at my hair enviously begging me to allow them to braid it, but I would never let their grubby fingers touch a strand. Since I was four years old I vowed to never cut my hair, I knew I just wanted to have hair like Rapunzel.

 Though as I sat at my pink dressing table staring at the golden haired girl in the mirror, I knew my hair really meant nothing anymore. I felt stupid and idiotic that for so many years I had believed my hair was so important, and if anything would happen to it I would just die. I carried on staring at my relflection until my blue eyes filled with tears. I violently banged my fists against the hard wood of the dresser, Why me? Why do I have to feel so much pain?

I blinked away the tears and felt them gently trickle down my cheek. One hand fiddled nervously with the hem of my silky night gown, while the other shaking hand held a pair of sharp scissors.

In the distance I heard the sudden shatter of glass and crashing of china, the painful sound willed me to carry on with my task.

I slowly closed my eyes and picked up a golden lock, careful not to cut myself I brought the scissors up to the lobe of my ear and with one quick breath…snip. I carried on snipping my hair away, cautious not to open my eyes, until I was sure that the length of every lock did not pass my pointed chin. Once every tress had disappeared I opened my eyes and forced myself to look in the mirror, at the new me.

When I saw my new messy cut I felt nothing, no sadness, no regret, no feelings at all. A few months ago I would have cried my eyes out at this terrible sight, but now I couldn’t care less.

Nothing felt important to me anymore, not even my beautiful hair. Hurt was overpowering all of my emotions, hurt was all I could feel. I hated this cruel and bitter World. I hated my life, and I hated everyone in my life.

Far off in the distance I could hear the cursing and threats getting louder and louder. The yelling never stops but just continues to worsen as the days wear on, I cannot remember a time anymore when I was smiling. Out of frustration, in one fluid movement I angrily wiped everything off my dresser, my china figurines flew across my room along with my other precious trinkets. I looked at my destroyed collection now scattered about my room, but yet again I couldn’t care less.

I felt pathetic and useless, I felt as if all of this arguing was because of me, as if I am the one to blame. But am I really to blame? I can’t be?

 But however much I thought it wasn’t my fault, my parents convinced me otherwise. They would tell me “I’ve made them unhappy”, “I am useless and nothing”, “I put so much pressure and strain on them”, “and I was a mistake”. I knew they loved me somewhat, but I felt as if I was this annoying unwanted heavy weight in their lives that they couldn't simply get rid of.

Even so, the hatred they had for one other was the strongest. Everyday is a battle between them, everyday a new set of table ware is destroyed, everyday is a silent meal. Don't be mistaken it wasn't always like this, they used to be so much happier just laughing and smiling, going on wonderful vacations, enjoying family days out, even just having a pleasurable conversation at dinner. But those memories have been washed away, along with all of our happiness.

I also can not remember  the last time I had a full nights sleep. All night long I am kept awake because of the noise from their constant fighting or because of the sickening fear I have that they will eventually strangle one another.

I try to ignore them as much as possible during the day otherwise I will be dragged into another argument, where I am forced to take a side. Choosing the wrong side is pure torture for me, in the past when I have taken a side, abuse has been thrown at me and I have even had raw eggs pelted at me. I've been called a bitch, a cow, worthless, and a piece of scum countless numbers of times, each time is like a bullet to the head slowly but surely weakening me.