All throughout my life, I’ve chosen fear. Fear is what gave me a little mask to hide the world from who I truly am. It led me to become a sick little girl, who sometimes never had an actual grasp on reality. There’s been plenty of cases where my mind has trapped me into a place where there never has been a sliver of light. Just living in this world brought me pain, so with pain brought the agonizing visions and flashbacks.

One of these days, I’d like to show people how I feel and what I hear and see. I’d like to show them how I fear things, and how I love things. The view I have is very altered compared to a normal teenager’s (if there is normal) view. 

The sound of arguing once again, for the 6th time this week woke me up. It was about 12:30am, and I thought I could try and go back to sleep, but the growing sounds of thumps kept me up. I threw myself off my bed, slapping my feet against the floorboards. Is this happening again? Do I have to call the police again? I worked my way out of my bedroom, knocking some object on the floor, not caring enough to pick it up.

I peeked out my door, just to see what the commotion was this time. My brother Andrew had came home late, so my mother was furious (Like always) about it. Andrew was on the landing, and my mom, my dad, and I were all looking down at the landing, then back up to my mother. This isn’t a first occurence, but with Andrew it was.

I went back to my room, laid back down, waiting for the bed to grip the sides of me to refrain me from getting up again. I had school the next day, so I had to be ready and get some sleep. Nope. An even louder thump vibrated throughout the house, so I could assume it was getting worse. I’m not even gonna BOTHER.

Next second I know, my oldest brother Jesse is rushing into my room, picking me up, and running to the great room. My mom was screaming at him, telling him to leave me alone. As soon as we made it into the great room, he dropped me, telling me to go and hide. My mom had scratched his back and burnt him with a cigarette once again. But what could a child do other than cry?

Jesse repeatedly told me that he, my brothers, and my dad loved me so much, they would never want to hurt me. Thump, thump, thump. She was trying to open the door. At that point, I lost my grip on reality. I couldn’t hear anything except my thoughts, I couldn’t see anything but what my mind had painted. I was terrified my mom was gonna hurt me again. Please, no. Not again. I’d do anything for it to never happen again.

I looked out the window, since I was hiding behind a couch, and noticed flashing red and blue lights. I’m so sick and tired of this. I want this all to stop. I wanna be normal. I don’t wanna have to watch my brothers and my father get hurt again. But I can’t; I can’t do anything. Why? Because children are seen, and not heard. We can’t help ourselves because we don’t know anything. We haven’t SEEN anything.

As a 7 year old little girl, I was terrified for everyone’s life in my family, ‘cause it was all I could do. You grow older, you have worse experiences, but there’s always certain parts in your life you remember, without exception. It can be good, it can be bad, but most of all, it can be scarring. I grew up in a household with the abuser as my mother. I just wish one day some medication, SOMETHING, would allow me and her to have a conversation. All I want to ask, is “why?”