[COMPLETED]
"Life doesn't get easier or more forgiving, we get stronger and more resilient."
― Steve Maraboli
She has experienced more pain in her 15 years of life than many people do in their lifetimes. Her life has always been filled with pain, em...
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ARABELLA'S POV
"Momma— the girls in the school were being mean to me again. They called me ugly and said they didn't want to talk to me, they even shoved me to the ground." My five-year-old self complained to my mother with eyes full of tears, while showing her the scratches on my arm, hoping that for once she'd reassure me and show me some love.
"Get lost, I don't have time for your nonsense—" Mom grumbled irritatedly, not even turning her head to look at me, as she continued to watch whatever she was watching on the TV.
But I wanted affection, I was craving for attention and the only one I wanted was from my mother.
So I did what my five year old self thought was fine and came to stand in front of her, bringing my small arms to hug her big frame, as my tears began to flow endlessly, still hurt and upset from the words of those mean girls.
My head rested on my mother's stomach, my heart yearning for the warmth and comfort I'd been denied since I could remember.
And instead of feeling a pair of arms wrap around myself like I'd expected, I was pushed away by my mother, her face scrunched up in disgust and distaste, but my heart refused to believe it.
The childishness in my heart was still longing for my mother's love and care.
I just wanted her to regard me, acknowledge me but the disgust on her face was quickly turning into anger and the tears in my eyes continued to flow.
My feelings had been hurt by the incident at school, and all I could think about and want was for my mother to console me.
Who else was I supposed to go to and cry my heart out—
The first person every child calls out for, whenever they are in pain or even in a slight discomfort, is their mother, and I was no different.
A sudden yelp left my mouth as I felt the pain of my cheeks being tightly squeezed together, mixed with the burn caused by my mother's long nails piercing my skin.
"Please mommy, stop— it hurts." I cried out and tried to pull her hand away with my very own small ones, which of course didn't do anything.
"Listen to me, my sweet little girl, everything they said was true. So don't come home crying about things that are true, okay darling?" Mom said using her sweet baby voice and every word broke my heart even more.
Is it true? Am I really ugly?
Is that why my mother doesn't like me?
Why would my mother tell me that if I wasn't?
Mother's don't lie, right—
"Do you understand, dear?" Mom asked again as she harshly patted my cheeks, causing me to flinch from the pain, but I nodded my head in response.
