Why?


Do I have the scars to show that I’ve been through hell? To that my answer is simple… and back again.


The ragged scar of a terrified child, trusting in her parents, just to be tossed into the hungry wolf’s den can be deep and long. The mental and physical abuse becoming a part of life’s daily routine until it’s thought of as normal. Fear rifles through the brutalized mind at what the night’s torture will bring. Is it going to be psychological, telling me over and over what a useless, unwanted child I am? Or is it going to be brutal, with the slap of a closed fist, or the leather of a belt just because you had a bad day? Or is it going to be something disgusting that need never be mentioned again because the thought turns my stomach to what you allowed?


When a child tries to escape from her cage of a prison, over and over, maybe someone should investigate why! The never-ending abuse leaves a child’s hopes, thoughts, dreams… all falling away to nothing more than questions. Why would you allow this to happen to me? What did I do to make you hate me so? Why was I never good enough for you? What would it take to make you love me too? WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING BELIEVE ME?! When the person you’re supposed to trust, more than anyone in this God-forsaken world, allows demons to abuse you – or does the deed themselves – where do you go from there? Who can you trust? To that my answer is simple… no one.


After a soul has been shattered in too many pieces to ever put back together again, the only true person you can trust in life is yourself. When things were incomprehensible, you never stepped in. Looked the other way. Told yourself that nothing happened. You weren’t at fault. Did nothing wrong. You didn’t protect me. I did.


Life continues moving forward with the pendulum swinging on its own accord. Pushing the envelope, stretching the imagination to what any sane person would think was copacetic. None of it was acceptable. Each time the whip embedded a purple bruise upon my flesh, salty tears burned through to my soul, marking it in memory. Later on, after I had forgiven you, I helped you when no one else was there… you proved once again just how little I ever meant to you by using me again. Stealing what little I had left to give, making me feel expendable. Just like you did my whole life. I was always the replaceable one – just an ancient relic on the shelf to be thrown away after jumping through your fiery hoops – when I no longer fit into your perfect little world. One becomes a hardened warrior when left alone to fight off the cold den of thieves and lecherous wolves trying to break me. Spouting lies so that others would think me nothing more than a diseased leper with infected wounds.


My horrific beginning carved a chain reaction to a lifetime of pain. Nothing is without sacrifice. Almost every person I have allowed in has used, abused, and tossed me out like yesterday’s trash when they no longer profited from me. Kindness is more of a curse than any of you will ever realize. It can lead to enough pain and regret to fill a river with unshed tears. My heart still bleeds for what once was but will never be again. Nothing can ever change that. Too many tides flow under that bridge to ever make solid ground again. Forgiveness will I never grant you. Not that you have asked for it, but you do not deserve it.


Do I have scars? To that my answer is simple… I have nothing but scars. However, it is a reprieve from my sadness to know that yours will come after your last dying breath… when you will have to answer a simple question. Why?

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