Living is... difficult.
Dying is ... painful.
Being dead .... is easy.
At a young age I had to learn to... distance myself. To separate myself from any 'unwanted' feelings. Such feelings as wanting and to be wanted. I could easily say that my life was hard, but who's isn't? All you could do is be determined to strive forward. To not let the past drag you down, but to also remember not to forget it. Even if you can't erase it, you can learn from it.
To describe my life as simple as possible, I was an unwanted child.
It all started that one day, that one moment in time were I learned I had a small gift. I was 5 at the time, it was late and I was in my room trying to sleep, when I heard a sound. It was the sound of glass breaking, crashing against the wall and landing on something wet. It was mother, she had broken the flower vase. Curious, I peeked out of my bedroom door, which led to the kitchen.
"What do you mean you won't be home soon?!" Oh, father won't be home today, I was glad. " It's beacuse of that fuckin' whore you're with, isn't it!?" Mother's face was so red and scrunched up with anger, I would have laughed if the air around her wasn't so....threatening. " Don't you dare fuckin' lie to me! I can smell her stench all over you everytime you're home!" With that she hung up, she started walking back and forth with her hands in her hair. Throwing her hands up in frustration, she started digging underneath the sink. When she had found what she was looking for, she gave a small scuffing sound and went to sit on the dinning chair. It was mother's hidden liqueur, she always had a bottle for times like these. While she drank, I stared at her, from behind my door I started thinking. I could remember thinking of how beautiful she looked. Funny don't you think, thinking that your mother looked beautiful when she was drinking away her sorrows away. But it was true, she didn't have any makeup on, her hair wasn't up and she didn't have her fake smile on. She didn't look fake, and that made her beautiful to me, but only for a moment.
That's when she looked to her right, and started staring at me. I'm not sure how long she stared at me just that when she started to slowly get up from her seat, my world started to move extra slowly. She had gone to her knees and grabbed my hair, bringing my face close to hers. "What are you staring at?" she said as she gritted her teeth, "you want to know something?....I....hate... how... fuckin'...bright...and...warm...your..fuckin' eyes are..." she tighten her hold on my hair and slammed my face to the floor. Bending closer to reach my ears she whispered, "do me a favor and keep those shitty eyes closed." She got up, still holding onto my hair, she tossed me against the kitchen wall, my skull made a sickening cracking sound as I fell to the floor. She then crouched down and pulled on my chin, "no one, you hear, no one wants to see those disgusting pair of freaks you call eyes." Her words started to fill my head. For they were true, my eyes were different. Even though the color was not abnormal, they were a brown as any one else's, but they did seem diffrent. They had a thin rim of red surrounding them and they were larger and slanted then most. Almost cat like. Satisifed, she took her bottle and went back to her room withought ever looking back. During that whole time, I didn't say word, didn't make a sound. That was my gift. As I layed there on the kitchen floor, I thought, what if, what if I had cried? Would she had stopped, would she had been angry? Yes, I thought, she would have been mad, she would not have stopped. That was my gift, at a young age I was able act calmly to handle the situation to fit my needs.
This... event would soon become a habit of ours. When father did not come home, mother would drink and then search for me. I wouldn't be far, for I knew that the longer she had to search for me, the angrier she would be. When she saw me, she would grab whatever she could get to first. The hair, neck, arms, my face. Whatever suited her fancy at the time. She would then drag me across any surface and then throw me against the wall. Mother would always stop after this and return to her room. But then things changed again. As far back as I could remember, I would always enjoy the days that my father was not at home. For on nights that he was, I could not sleep. He would always stand by my door way and stare at my sleeping form. After what would have felt like hours at the time, he would leave, but I could still not fall asleep. Then one night, I had to use...the 'gift' once more. One night, after the battering mother gave me, I went to my room. Father had appeared, standing in the dark by my bedroom door. He had come home later that night. I curled into a ball and remained quiet. I smelt alcohol from him, I thought how strange, for he never used to drink. Then I heard a series of strange sounds. The sound of him unbuckling his belt and after awhile the sound of him breathing. After a grunting sound and a sigh, he buckled his belt and left. After that night, father would always be home, and mother had stopped drinking. Even with the pain mother had caused me, I could still fall asleep. But now I couldn't... I won't.