Dear Rose,
Everything about my life is horrible. Dad promised he'd stop drinking but he hasn't. It's getting worse in time. I feel like I can't handle it anymore. He often comes home shouting angry and perverted things at me. I'm forced to hide away in my room with the door locked until his drunkenness has subsided. It seems like the more time that passes since Scarlet's death, the more I miss her. She was my best friend and it gets harder to live life without someone who understands me entirely. Every night I have a reoccurring dream about her: We're in a corn field and we're dancing. There's no music playing, but we're dancing. We're lost in out own little worlds. Suddenly a man approaches her and starts dragging her away. Her brown hair tangled in a mess around her neck and she was screaming for me to help her. That she loved me. I tried to reach out to help her but I couldn't get to her. The dream ends when I collapse and everything goes black. After that, I wake up trembling with fear. It's been a little more than four years since her death and it still haunts me, mocking me, making me wish that the man in the corn field would take me away too. Take me away from my awful "parents" who seem to care more about drinking and sexual pleasures more than they ever did about me. I always feel like my last resort is to cut. I told myself I would stop just to seem normal, but I don't want to. I love that I can forget my problems for a little while. I can forget about how I have to sneak food so that my parents won't get angry. I can forget about how much pain it causes me to know that mom sells herself to men as dad watches. But after the razor's tucked back into my drawer and my blood has dried, I'm back to the four white walls that I have seen every day of my life. God, I feel bad complaining and saying how much I hate my life because I know there is always someone who is going through a worse time than I. I try to see the bright side of every situation but it gets hard to do sometimes. Especially since Scarlet isn't here anymore and mom shouts too much. Writing seems to help me cope with my feelings pretty well. My pencil is starting to get dull and my fingers numb. I think I should go now. Dad is coming and I haven't locked my door yet. Goodbye, Rose.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Rose,
Teen FictionImagine a world where a diary was your only friend. The only thing you could trust, confide in. Here's the life of a young woman who tells her daily troubles starting with Dear Rose. ............................................................... Th...
