Unknown

Part 1

She couldn't remember the last time her father didn't raise his hand when she made a mistake. The last time her mother held her hand and said everything was ok. The last time she had a moment of peace away from her siblings, the pain, the misery. Everything that made her life dark and her mind darker. Her pain hidden in plain sight. It had gotten to the point where she just knew how and when to hide whatever she needed to hide. The bruises hidden under her school shorts, the cuts on her wrist with concealer. There wasn't a single patch of skin on her thighs and wrists unmarred from the delicate art she made. Where she replaced paper with her skin and the pen with a silver blade. Life wasn't fair nor was it easy everyone knew that. But not everyone had the same pain, not the same violence. Every day was the same. The same thoughts that left her awake for hours. The nightmares that haunted her dreams every night. The ghosts of her pasts that made her regret living. Everything was a nightmare. Portrayed as the stronger person, mature for her age, the happy child. Or so everyone thought, but who knew what was running around in that brain. Judged for everything, unable to share. Unable to lean onto someone. Unable to be vulnerable around others. Locking away every feeling within her. it was for the better. It was for the worst. She still doesn't know. Every day was a war that needed survival. Everyday was a play of feelings that no one understood. Traumatised from the earliest age to her current age. Raising kids of her own. Kids that didn't come from her womb. Everything that happened was her fault. Or so she believed. Carrying everything on her shoulders. Something so innocent and pure turned into a nightmare that an overthinker carried. Each scar, each time her heart got torn out of her chest a different story. Looking at a happy future wasn't possible. Always worrying for the worst. Always bracing for an impact that may not come. The way her mouth clamped shut during pain, the worst of everything seemed impossible to overcome. Trying to meet expectations no child should be expected off. She could only pray whatever happened to her doesn't happen to anyone else. But what difference does it make when people like her father, neglectful, abusive liars that used empathy as a weapon exists. None at all. Who hurt you? Knowing that... what difference will it make. Nothing then why bother. "Is there no one you can lean on?" how does she know? She's been holding everything together all her life. How will she know if she can lean on someone? who was she supposed to ask for help. If you ask her now "are you doing better" or "are you ok" she will say yes. Not because she is but because she doesn't want to burden you with her problems. In her eyes there's something wrong with her, for not being able to keep everything together. For not being able to suppress her feelings like she wants to. For not being the ideal daughter who can meet their parent's expectations. She compares herself to everyone and anyone better than herself. How will she know that she's hurting herself. That's all she knows to do. She can rant she can talk but what difference will it make? will you be able to help her. in simple words no you cannot. You might have an influence in her life but that's if she trusts you. Will you be patient enough to stay though? That's the real question. What she's gone through might scare you, but will you stay. Do you know. No, you don't. you claim to be able to but are you really that strong? Strong enough to handle the crap she's gone through? For the vulgar things she's been exposed too. The delicate peace she keeps before it cracks in front of her eyes. will you be there when the depression hits? Will you be there through the panic attacks? Will you be there when she finally escapes the prison, she made for herself? The answer is no. you won't have the time or care to bother. No matter how much you claim to be able to you might just not have the time. Or even be close enough. She won't share unless she's close. It's clear she shares the vague stand most known facts about herself. Nothing more or nothing less. She's an impossible book to read. But why are humans being compared to books? You shouldn't have to be read. You should be able to express yourself the way you want to. But what if your suppressed like she was. Or if you're suppressing yourself like she is. Will you be able to manage all these uncontrollable emotions.