Human

What people don't seem to understand about me is that I'm normal. No matter what all happens to me, I'm still a person. I'm not an object to be used and thrown away, and I'm not an emotionless... thing...

I'm human...

And, sometimes, I don't quite feel like I should be able to fit in just as well as I do. I don't feel normal most times, but I still act the part, and I still have friends and family that love and support me no matter what.

Underneath all the nice in my eyes and all the comfort in my tone, I'm still a normal person. I'm not an object. I have feelings. I'm normal.

I'm normal.

I'm normal...

I'm...

Normal...

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At home, everything was fine. At least, they were some days. But, most days, windows broke, plates were shattered, knives were thrown across the house at each other, and fists connected with faces. And, all the while, we hide, holding our hands over our ears to block out the screaming and the crashing of breaking objects hitting the walls and floors. Dog paws scuffled over the hardwood floor of the kitchen and to her favorite corner during these situations. The cats hide under the beds and couches and pray they don't get flipped over in the chaos. The birds stay silent throughout the ordeal, hoping to go completely unnoticed by the attackers.

I hid in my room with my siblings, as if we never existed. We stayed quiet; as quiet as the dog, the cats, and the birds. We, too, prayed we'd go unnoticed by our parents, as the glass shattered throughout the house.

They always threw curses and insults at each other, following with objects and punches, and words that could hurt anyone with the tone they were accompanied by. However, I'm almost positive these words were only meant for each other rather than anyone else in the world.

The calm that always followed was usually never a good sign. Either someone had left, or they finally got the nerves to separate from each other for an unmentionable amount of time. It was always for the best, though. If they had stayed near each other, there might have had to be a forensic specialist in this very place.

We were finally able to uncover our ears, but we never dared move, as if any noise would trigger another outbreak. We stayed still for a few more minutes, stifling any sobs that might escape and wiping tears that dared to flow from our eyes that were supposed to stay dry and uncaring. Emotions showed weakness, and yelling always showed dominance and strength. It always showed who was in charge, and whoever could throw an object and shatter multiple objects on its journey was the more powerful opponent.

But, under the calloused skin we all had formed, we were still human, and we still had feelings, no matter how weak they made us. We were still vulnerable, as children, to every word that was screamed, every object that shattered, every audible punch and tackle. Every noise was more than enough to break us, but we could never show those emotions that built up within us. If we let the dam overflow, the consequences could be worse than what overflowed the dam...

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We were always able to go through our normal lives without a hitch. Sure, we were broken on the inside, but we were still strong. We still lived normally. At least, we thought these things were normal. We thought everyone fought like they did. Everyone's parents fought with fists and objects that shattered against each other, right?

The few times we had told other people about our parents always had a similar reaction from everyone we told. They were always so shocked and always so concerned. But we were fine. Of course, it hurt, and it scarred, but the pain always faded eventually.

Everything was normal with us. We were just normal kids with normal family. There was never anything wrong. The scars and bruises were just part of being kids. We were always bound to get hurt in one way or another.

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They were always fine for about a week before the chaos started up again. Sometimes, it got overbearing. Sometimes, I felt the need to harm myself, just like my parents were harming each other. And it was always a normal feeling to me; the razor against my skin was almost calming sometimes. It always brought me into my own world away from the one I lived in. It brought me into a place I could only ever dream of. It took me away from the chaos that I learned to fear, yet accept. The blood flowing down my arm comforted me. It made me feel like I was alive, and it confirmed that thought.

I'm alive.

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On the bus to school, we were always bullied. We were always told we couldn't sit with others, and things were thrown at us, like wrappers and papers. Some even threw food, but it wasn't as common, thankfully. They always held their noses when we walked by, and it always hurt. I know I tried to smell nice, despite our living situation. It was hard to get rid of the scent of our pets... but, I still tried to be normal.

I always ignored everyone as I passed them. They would usually throw their words at us as we passed, calling us names. They would look at our outfits and laugh because they were so old and outdated. They were always tattered and dirty. They looked fine to me, though.

I always did my best to brush out my hair in the morning, and put on perfume to mask the pet smell. It didn't always work, but it was still an effort. There was always an attempt to be presentable like Dad had always told us. Mom never seemed to care about what we wore, but for some reason, Dad was almost obsessed with looking decent.

To me, personally, as long as the clothes that I picked out of the laundry pile fit, that was usually the outfit I wore for the day... or the week.

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The day I left that place was the day I began to feel an emotion that was sort of new. The day I started college was the day I finally realized that everything I had experienced up until this point was not normal at all. No one else's parents fought like cats and dogs. No other child that I knew had to listen to their mother scream for help as their father attacked her while he was drunk.

The day I realized I wasn't normal was the day I decided to try and change. It was the day I realized I didn't want to be like my parents. It was the day I gained independence. It was the day I was finally happy.

I was never normal, but I was always human. I always had emotions that were almost nonexistent because they were repressed in the deepest parts of me. I could finally express those repressed emotions because no one was there to tell me I was weak for shedding a tear.

I finally felt alive.

I finally felt normal.

I finally felt human.