The Deadly Alphabets

Chapter 4

****D****

November 18

I've decided to write my thoughts down on paper. At least this way, there's minimal chance of yelling, fighting and tears. I talk to no one, and no one talks to me. Let's face it, who can I talk to in my family? My "holiday" father? I call him that because.. that's the only time I hear from him. He's much too busy with his new wife (and their children) to care what happens to me. But that's fine, who said I wanted to be a Daddy's girl anyway? And there's no such thing as "talking" to my mom. She drinks a lot, and the only time she notices me is when she's drunk. Even then, the hurtful and hateful words she would say to me is enough to make me pray for death. Mine or hers, it doesn't matter. And let's not start on my older brother Malcolm. I literally hate him.

I have no friends at school. I talk to no one, and no one talks to me. But the kids do call me names and make fun of me because I stutter. They also spread lies about me, saying that sleep around. So right now I am forced to share all my secrets; all my dreams and fears with a spiral notebook and a pen. Just excuse me if I'm not bubbling over with joy at the moment. Do you know how lonely I feel? I can't trust anyone. Right now I don't even trust writing my secrets down. I'm just so scared someone will find this. They'll read my words, hurt me, then destroy my only release on this fucked up planet. Harsh but true. So I'm going to end this first entry here. Until next time.......

November 21

Today was like any other day, full of isolation and frustration. Last night Malcolm came into my room again. He climbed in my bed and laid half naked next to me. God he disgusts me! I tried to tell my mom about it over the past few months, but she wouldn't listen. Instead she slapped me hard across the face. She told me that I was retarded whore and didn't know what the hell I was talking about. (And that's me giving you the edited version of what she said). So I've stopped telling my mom. The worst part is, now he won't stop coming after me .

I screamed, punched and kicked him, and he still wouldn't get off me. He continued to pressed his body against mine and started reaching for my pajama bottoms. I can still hear him breathing heavy in my right ear. I had to bite him on his cheek to get him up. Last night, I tried to make my teeth touch each other through his flesh. I actually drew blood from his face. That made him mad. He punched me in my mouth and left my room. My lip is still swollen today, but no one seemed to noticed or care.

All type of weird stuff happens to me and no one ever seems to notice anything. I talk to no one and no one talks to me. I'm so tired of living life. Its literally making me sick. I don't fit in anywhere. I don't feel protected anywhere. And I definitely don't feel love anywhere. How can I give love to another person (or even myself ) if I never experienced it? I've only seen it on TV. Never up close and personal. Well I don't want to get all emotional, so I'll end this till next time...

November 25

It's Thanksgiving, and while normal people are having meals with there family and friends, I'm at my shabby furnished home alone. My mom went out to dinner with her new boyfriend and took Malcolm with her. She left me here because she said I was an embarrassment, and she would rather starve than to take me anywhere in public. Again, that's the edited, nice version of the conversation. Even though she meant for it to be some sort of punishment, I'm relieved to have this time alone. And I'm ecstatic that she took Malcolm with her. At least I'll have a few "unpervy" hours.

I don't have alot of experience, but I tried to cook myself a big fancy Thanksgiving dinner tonight . I'll be turning 11 in less than a week, so I thought I would try to take care of myself more. I wanted to make a turkey , but all we have is sandwich meat. So I made some macaroni and cheese and a large ham sandwich. The food smelled funny to me, but I tried to eat it anyway and ended up vomiting. I vomited so much I felt like I was going to die . I had nobody to call. I talk to no one and no one talks to me. After that episode with the toilet, I decided I will become a vegetarian.

Speaking of no one, my father called today. I admit I was a little excited when I saw his number on the caller id. I answered the phone smiling ear to ear. I couldn't wait to tell him all about the hell I'm going through here. I wanted to tell him about my violent vomiting spree he just missed. I needed him to show me the same love he gives his other kids. Most of all, I wanted him to be my dad and come rescue me, but the conversation never made it that far.

"Hello?" I played nonchalant.

"Hey. Where's your mother?" he asked.

"She and Malcolm are out to dinner with her boyfriend, " I stuttered. I wanted him to get so mad that she would leave me home, that he'd come and get me himself.

"Tell her I called ", was his response before he hung up. That was it! With everything that's going on with me, he only had eight words to say. He didn't care that I was left alone on Thanksgiving. He never asked me how I was doing, or about school. He never said he missed me or loved me. He never even said Happy fucking Thanksgiving! But I'm not surprised, we've already established no one notices me. Maybe one day I'll make it official. Maybe one day I'll disappear. Wouldn't that be great?

November 26

I don't know why adults call the day after Thanksgiving "Black Friday", but today I have my own reasons why its black. What I thought was just sickness last night became worst this morning. It felt like someone was drop kicking me in the stomach over and over again. The pain got so bad that it not only attack my stomach, but I felt it in my back as well. I had no choice but to cry into my pillow most of the night. I wanted to tell my mom that I was in so much pain, but her boyfriend stayed the night. She would have killed me if I dared to knock on her bedroom door. I talk to no one and no one talks to me. So I suffered in agony for nine hours. Too scared to ask for help.

At 5:23 this morning, I went to the bathroom in rush to sit on the toilet. I had an incredible urge to 'take the Browns to the Superbowl '. (That's what my dad call it ). My stomach cramped so bad that I couldn't hold the pain to myself any longer. I allowed the scream to travel from my soul and be free. I gave it wings to fly around my house and wake my mom. Boyfriend or not. It was successful, because she was standing in the door within seconds.

"What the hell is wrong with you?",she shouted. She was dressed in a robe, pulled tightly at the waist. Before I could answer, another pain shot through my abdomen. I clenched my teeth and tightened my muscles. I felt something big and slimy pass out of me. It felt strange, but my stomach felt 100% better. I went to wipe and there was blood. "What? You got your period? ", she asked when she saw the blood. She thought it was my first one. I've been getting my period for almost a year, and I could tell that this blood was different.

As soon as I stood up, that's when we saw it. It was just floating in the toilet, still attached to something hanging from me. My mother quietly stared at me for a long time. I felt so small and alone in that stare. Then she whispered something to me that I will never forget. She said, "I'm not taking care of two retards." She found some dull scissors and cut the attachment. She told me to reach in the toilet and dispose of it properly. I didn't know what she meant. I stood there looking at her for answers. She handed me a towel and a plastic shopping bag and told me to hurry because the trash men came at 6. That's when I understood, and started to cry. She slapped me so hard my ears rang. Told me to do what she said and shut up about it. So that's what I did.

I carried the bundle slowly to the trash. With each step I talked to no one, and through the bag, no one talked to me. My mom yelled from the porch for me to hurry. Everything in my heart don't want to do it. I'll be 11 in four days, I think I should have a say in this. But I don't. I could see the garbage truck a few houses down, and start to panic. I slung the bag into trash and ran back into the house. My heart was hollow. My mom looked at me and said if I ever told anyone or talked about it that she would hurt me. But her words didn't connect with my heart, I felt so empty and alone in a room full of threats. I can't wait until I'm grown!! Until next time....

****D is for Dumpster Baby****