|
|
|
Sun Feb 03, 2008 @ 04:33pm
Promises are a fragile glass, carefully balanced in the care taker's hands. The person could either choose to drop it, sending the glass to spiral down and shatter into a million shards or forever carry this precious item always making sure its perfectly placed.
Within the glass holds trust, a piece of the person you hold this with. If was in many glasses, each one shattering breaking a little of me with it. It was this that sent me spiraling down into my black hole of despair.
Promises of love, protection, a wall to block the pain.
Never have they been full filled.
My grandmothers promised these all as they beat me every night. Slamming my head against the glass door, or holding me to the ground their bony finger wrapping aroung my throat as I choked.
It was these moments and memories and the pain of the betrayal that made me cold. I lost belief in love, in hope. I stay closed off from the world, always thinking that the bullies were kind and nice. Only because I knew real pain.
But it wasn't till I was ten did I realize what they did to me was wrong. I had been taken to a shelter, my grandmothers finally, truly abandoning me. I guess the police that saw me saw the marks on my fragile body in my white night gown because as i soon as I entered a lady begong to ask about what they did to me.
I replied truthfuly but when she said it was abuse I refused and disagreed. And why? Didn't it all fit? all those classes on abuse, didn't match? Then why didn't I believe them?
Because I trusted them. I believed them when they said they loved me, when they said they would never let me go like my mother did. They had never meant to keep them. And so i shattered against the ground, the impact vibrating through my spine. And i lay there.
It was not that night that which I realized it, it was the week later when they never came.
I was given to my mother. Yes my mother, the rechided, vile woman who could have saved me but only let me fall. But she was different she had lost wieght, she had kinder eyes, she smiled and cried when she saw me. She said she never knew. And even against my better judgement then..I believed her.
A week later after I moved in, the police came. they said she lost all her chances to take parenting classes to keep me. she never took a single one. She let him take me away, though i know she was fighting with chris not to let them. But it didn't matter, she broke her promise, she said she loved me. if she did she would have took the classes.
I moved in with my gay step uncles John and Gary. The first day and we're already fighting. Gary's abusive too. He punches me and hits me with the metal broom. I scream, the rage in me flaring.
Years later my mom never came back. I don't even see her. Gary still hurts me, but i dont fight back. I just let the pain engulf me.
With practice I learned to seem happy around my friends, smilling when needed laughing when called for. It seemed natural but I still cried on the inside. John doesn't like me.
He says he wants a son, one that isn't a brat. He doesn't want me and Gary shoves it in my face.
We visit my brother at the boys shelter. Soon we take him in. Gary and John love him. I am left alone.
Once again i'm left in the darkness my friends even starting to see through the act. I dont know what to do. The pain is too much.
I grab a butcher knife. Locking myself in my bathroom I slide the blade against my skin untill I draw blood. It doesn't hurt, my body feels numb and I'm laughing. Maybe I'm insane.
I bandage my cuts and soon it becomes a daily habit. At school, in class, at home. I can't stop. It was like a drug taking away the pain when needed. But one day I got caught.
John came to pick me up. He's staring at my wrists. "Heidi," he says, "i know about the cutting. And you'll be in trouble when we get home." I say nothing and we drive.
At home he suddenly screems. THings are flying, his face is red. But all's he is saying is how this was jepordizing our chances of getting my brother. His chances. He never once said bacause it was bad for me, or that he didn't want me hurt. He never even asked why. Suddenly he slaps me.
The impact knocks me hard against the wall knocking down pictures and nails. I lay in shock. John never hit me, he never touched me pratically. Suddenly I'm flying to mmy room, locking myself in the bathroom. I pick up a razor.
I throw it across the room knocking a vase. Not even cutting could help me now.
The next few years I avoided razors and sharp objects. I never touched them unless needed. But the pain begun to swell up again.
One night I couldn't take it. I ran to my bathroom and grapped a long towel. Wrapping it tight around my neck till i saw spots. I stared at my reflection or at least the parts of me i could see. The last thing I remember was standing at a door slightly a jar letting light into the darkness, and falling into it. The whole time staring at the growing distant light. There was a clunk and then nothing.
I wake up, my body in a strange position on the floor. I guess I hit the tiolet. I sit there for a while. Clearing my head and trying to remember what happened. I realized I pasted out. And I realized that maybe this was a sign. A sign that I needed to stay, no matter how many broken promises.
 TwistedShaddows · Mon Feb 04, 2008 @ 01:49pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
