Losers Like Us (Slow Updates)

My Story

(Unedited)

My story

This place; it is quite dangerous.

It is especially dangerous if you have people like me in it.

I didn't come from a great up bringing, but I didn't come from the worst. I suppose I was lucky in a way, I had one sane-ish parent.

My childhood consisted of; an uptight father who was all Jesus. I copped quite a bit of physical abuse from the old geezer, he then left the church and resorted to alcohol to numb his demons. He was a mentally deranged man; he found it funny to beat animals, found it hilarious to cut himself up in front of me, and he absolutely loved to pick at my mind.

He wanted me to be just as fùcked up as him.

I thanked god everyday that I had my mother. She was the one who would stitch me up and cover my bruises. She was the one who would sneakily buy me new clothes, she made sure I was healthy and never starved.

She kept me alive.

When in that situation, it really isn't just as simple as just leave. Being in that house, living with that man; he made you feel like you had no choice but to stay with him.

He was the master at manipulation.

He made you rely on him, made you believe that the only reason why you were still alive was because of him. He made you believe that he was the source of income, the blanket of security and the love you deserved.

He was good, I'll give you that much.

It was when I was fifteen that my mom decided to pack up and escape. But by then, it was a little too late. My mind was nearly gone and my belief in love was just about non-existent.

It's funny looking back at three years ago.

The way my mom and I had to live when we ran. The endless cold nights, the travelling, the fear and anxiety.

It was hard.

But now, everything is all so different.

We found a new house on the other side of the country, my mother found new friends, I started at a new school; under a new name. We were unknown, we were new and everyone loved mom.

They didn't like me however.

I was strange, I was cold and emotionless.

I was deemed a loser.

I basked in that name. I truly loved it, it reminded me not to believe in the good of others. The more people called me 'loser', the meaner I'd get, the harsher I'd be, the crueller I'd become.

It all started when I broke a girls wrist in my junior year. She had been getting on my nerves with the bullying, it was when she brought up my father that I had snapped.

I remember the way her wrist gave a out strange cracking noise, I remember the way her screams echoed through the hallways.

I remember the adrenaline running high through my veins.

I remember people whispering my nickname.

"Oh my god, Loser did that?"

"Losers a fùcking psycho!"

"Loser just broke Jenna's fùcking wrist!"

I loved it.

I wanted people to fear me.

I wanted people to stay away from me, I wanted them to be frightened in my presence.

I got what I wished for.

I was feared.

I was cruel.

I was 'Loser'.

The one thing I was disgusted with, was my father; too got his biggest wish.

I was just as fùcked up as he was.

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I have a feeling that this story is gonna be extremely fùcked up. This story also hits pretty close to home, and I bet it will for a lot of my readers.

May be triggering to some.