I don't know when it started...but I know how it began. It's hard to know when you aren't yourself when you've fallen into the same cycle over and over again. I look at myself in the mirror, an unfamiliar face but a familiar name.
Amore.
That's who I am.. It isn't at all a name fitting what I've become: a ball of burning hatred and sadness. The world was never to kind to me. An awful father and the mother that complained. I was the therapist with no degree or office. My only qualifications were being born to those people.
Don't get me wrong. I don't hate my mother or dislike her. I adore her. My father in the other hand cannot be described with the word love. It tastes like poison in my mouth having that word associated with him. I hate what my mother does.
"I'm tired of that man! Everyday in this house he causes noise."
"Mom I don't want to live with him."
Silence.
"Honey we will let God decide"
I hate it. It makes me hate religion. God? Why wait on God? What about me. I suffer here but I can't say a word. You won't listen. I need help but my cries fall a deaf ears..
Silence.
