I want to escape. I want to run away. I want to leave. I want to die.
Nothing can compare to the pain I suffer as I live through every day. Everyday, I get by but i'm not living. friends cant tell. they're too busy with their own problems. Which is fine. I don't want them to know. they would just maul and that's the last thing I want. I wake and sleep in hell, and everyday nothing changes.
My Father. My goddamn father. He is the Satan in my living Hell. He never leaves. Hes always there when i want him the least. i never want to see him. I hate his guts!!!! but i cant escape this own personal hell that i am trapped in... forever.
I'm at school and people notice my scars and bruises. i make excuses like i ran into a post light on my way walking home or something like that. I do have friends, but i never talk about my life. i don't make myself known. My life is nothing.
Walking home is the best part of my day. I'm not home where i get abused, but i'm not at school where i get made fun of for everything i do. I would run away, but i have already tried. He found me i don't know how, nor why he wanted to find me. He did though.
While i'm walking into the hell of everyday, i pass by homes with children playing and parents... together. I feel like there life is too good, but my life is just horrible. My mom is in the ground and their mom is playing with her children. My father is satan. Their father is building a treehouse. I will never have that life.
I reach my destination of 1289 secel Ave. I walk in through the creaky door of this house. My father is sitting at the dining table with 3 empty beer bottles sitting next to him as he holds another beer bottle. I do not speak i just go straight to my room.
I set my bag on my bed. I sit down and contemplate when he's going to come in here. 3...2...1- "Why the fuck didn't you say hello to your own father you stupid bitch," he barricades into my room and slaps me on the face. He finishes off his beer and throws in my bedroom trashcan. He pushes me back and i hit my head on the wall. I yelp in pain. He scoffs at me and leaves slamming my door. I rub my throbbing head. I lean down and grab a taped item under my bed. Look at the thin blade in between my fingers.
As i walk carefully to the bathroom i see my father, Brian, grabbing another beer. I look in front of me and see the bathroom door i open it and walk in. I turn and shut the door. "52"
