Is it truly attainable? A life without turmoil, to live in the here and now for always? I think NOT! So they say the wreckage from our pasts will haunt us and wreak havoc on all that we touch, I am living proof that, that holds to be true. I can't escape it, no matter how I try, it has it's talons embedded in my soul, and is tearing the flesh that's oh so deep from my living being. The drugs masked the torture I was so accustomed to, for years, perhaps I deserved such beatings, maybe I brought them on myself. Maybe just maybe I deserve more of the same as opposed to a happy, healthy relationship. I can't even do that right. I inquire, and I'm irrational, my sense of self is once again warped, I am the most fucking delusional person that I know. Why would anyone want to be surrounded by such fucking negativity. It's everywhere. Lurking, waiting for the right moment to jump out and tear me to shreds. I should just let people, places and things be well enough alone. I'll never learn. I've lived with the horror for too long and it slowly takes away my identity, if at all there is any of ME left.
The abuse started when I was 8 or 9, my uncle who since then has died. I felt no remorse when I learned of it either, should I have? I tried to be the best little girl I knew how, but always ended up terrorizing my siblings for something they had no knowledge of, and so I have lived with the guilt of abuse. I had few friends, I isolated myself from the world, I was extremely shy and introverted most of my life, until we moved to upstate New York. At the tender age of 15 I was devastated, I had no friends, I had nothing, just myself, and GOD knew I hated myself, so I continued to torment my brother and sister. I made a friend, my neighbor and she drank and smoked. I figured I would make many friends if only I fit in. So I began stealing my fathers' cigarettes and inhaling them not even smoking them. We moved a few more times changing schools once again, and instantaneously I found my niche. The ones' that smokes weed and drank. I was going to be okay. There was something different about them though, they didn't drink the way I drank, they drank to savor the flavor, I drank to get drunk. I figured I needed discipline so I joined the Army, HA. That was a joke, it made me more resentful and I hated life. I made an ass of myself throughout my entire life, graduated high-school, and got a job. I met a man, or so I thought, perhaps this is what I needed. How fucking wrong I was, at first he was kind and complementary, but that soon changed. I became pregnant, and a switch was turned on and the abuse began. I thought I had been deserving of it at first because of all I dished out when I was younger. But fearing for my life and begging for mercy didn't seem to stop the beatings. He would beat me and begin to leave but I was so afraid that I would beg him to stay and endure what seemed like a lifetime more of beatings. Choking, kicking, punching me I would sob, not ever cry that would only anger him more, so I suffered in silence, I lied about the bruises, and the cuts, I tried to cover up as much as possible. I didn't know until later that he was a heroine addict, a skin pop was all I needed and it was instant love. I could endure the kicks and the punches, the hateful words, his cheating and lies. It all made sense, I got high, and felt no pain. It escalated to the point of no return, I had given birth and I loved this little child I held in my arms with all that I could love with. I had no love for anyone but her, hate yes but love was taken. I finally broke down after giving custody of my beautiful child to my mother to care for, because GOD knew I couldn't even care for myself. My drug use took flight and and I was high morning, noon and night, still enduring the beatings, driving and being punched so hard any normal person would've died instantly but I endured the pain and carried on, this lasted for some time and finally alone in my apartment with no one to care for me or about me (so I thought) I finally decided that life had no meaning and I truly was as worthless as I had been told I was. I decided that I was going to die, the sun was shining through the window and I chased the dragon that day, I felt the rush come over me, at first it was euphoric and then I became frightened, not knowing if I truly wanted death I made my way outside and began walking, I was able to phone my mother, and sought the comfort I had once known. I have not ever truly dealt with the abuse on a level suitable for most, because I still believe that I deserved it. It's all so very vivid at this very moment I need a break. I still feel the lump on my head from a solid punch to the back of my head which is still very clear in my mind. I'm exhausted, I exhaust myself, I wear myself down, emotionally until there is no way out of my head.
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