OMG!!!! 1.05K READS! WHY ARE SO MANY PEOPLE READING THIS SCATTERED BOOK!? *excited face and inhuman noise* Thank you guys sooo much!!! :D
This is an EXTREMELY LONG chapter, which I don't really say, cause Im all short updates, long breaks. 's sad really.
Anyway, on this the chappy, thanks again! >_<
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I don't miss my dad, not at all. My mother didn't and never will understand my lack of guilt when I supposedly destroyed the picture perfectness that was our family. Maybe that's why she hates me now. While she cried in her room for months, I stared at the wall and lay on my unmade bed the whole time. I felt so disconnected from everything. I felt like my father had been replaced with the evil man that broke my mother's heart. The man that swung me 'round the backyard when I was 7, that gave me rides through Walmart on his shoulders at 4, he was gone. And he wasn't coming back.
I had missed countless days of school and when I did go no work would be done, Bryan, Isaac and Rick didn't lay off in the slightest and I walked around like a zombie. I felt like I was floating above everyone else, seeing everything through someone else's eyes. I was dragged along through the day, begging for my current escape; sleep. I could shut everything out completely, I think I liked sleep so much because it was so close to death, which was always on my mind. While that sounds very blunt and almost insensitive, it's true. When you sleep, you aren't in the real world anymore, your trapped in your own imagination, and its wonderful.
I can clearly remember the day when the thought started weighing me down;
I was walking to school, like any other day, when I saw an ambulance rush past me. While yes, it did scare the hell out of me -because I am apparently deaf and can't hear extremely loud sirens behind me- I couldn't help but wonder the next day if the person they were after made it. While I knew nothing about what had happened, or wether it was even a life or death situation, it was the thought that someone could of just died. That every few minutes, a loved one could of been ripped right out of someone's fingertips. It both fascinated and terrified me.
With these gruesome thoughts always on my mind, I became obsessed with what would happen after you were inevitably taken out of this universe. This led me read 'triggering' stories, to see the author's view on what would happen after their character was brutally killed off by some unimportant side character that was briefly mentioned twice.
I won't be triggered.
I'm not that upset, I won't be triggered.
But I was. In the back of my mind, I was so fucking sad that my father was gone, that he had thrown me away the way he did. When the night terrors started, my outlet was taken away from me. Permanent bags had formed under my now lifeless eyes. It began with a few rough nights, steadily progressing towards the horrific night mares and midnight panic attacks I have now.
My outlet was gone. And I needed a new one.
Through some of the stories I had read, I learned a lot about self harm. So... looking for a new way out, I tried it. It hurt, a lot. I promised myself I wouldn't do it again. But it released all the anger and sadness that had been locked away. So after a week or two, I craved the pain, I wanted little red beads that were said to bubble up and roll down my arms and thighs, so I tried it again.
And I loved it.
That was when the addiction started.
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I didn't speak to anyone for the first months. The months that I felt numb. I didn't comfort my mom when she needed me most. But I don't feel bad. She had watched as he slapped me, as he pushed me to the ground, kicked me against the wall repeatedly. My mother's screams and cries were heard through out the house, but what makes me hate her all over again, is that she never tried to stop him. She never tried to help, never called the police, just... watched and cried.
