upstairs. evening.
"stupid" her mom tells her.
"stupid"
the words hit her as hard as a physical slap would.
it wasn't abuse she figured, not serious, or physical; it sure felt physical.
but ages it had been going on for, since she was born really.
only just now had she started to realise that this wasn't normal.
no child should feel this.
no one should feel this.
as the names started to get worse, so did her self esteem, her mental state, her happiness.
some days she didn't feel like waking up, some days she went to sleep and wished to never wake up. some days she couldn't sleep because the spiteful words stabbed her in the head like knives, the sharpest knives.
she didn't want to live anymore, it hurt to even breathe.
what if i look too fat when i breathe?
what if i look too dumb when i think?
what if i look too lazy when i sit down?
what if i look like a wuss when i cry?
what if i look like bitch when i cake myself with makeup?
what if i look too exposed when i wear short sleeves?
but she wouldn't look like anything, not if she wasn't alive.
she felt it was the answer.
so she went downstairs, turned all the lights off; they went off quickly.
like her brain.
when she got into the bath.
and fell asleep.
