Psychopath (EDITING)

2 - REALITY

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I used to think that life was just meant for surviving.
I just lived my life the way my parents wanted me to, and if I did that then I would be fine...
That I would be okay...
Turns out that wasn't exactly the way things were planned out.

As a graduate student from high school, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I mean, I had an idea of what I was going to do, but... I didn't know what I wanted to do.
But who really knows, you know?
Asking teenagers what they want to do for the rest of their lives is kind of stupid... like how are we supposed to know that? Like I don't even know how to pay taxes or how to live on my own, but you want me to know what my life is going to be like?
Just stupid.
But they expect us to know.
Specifically my parents...

My parents have always been kind of strict, but this caused a lot of tension in our family. My dad was a heavy drinker and my mom loved to argue, so they ended up fighting a lot and eventually got divorced. I mean, yeah I was really upset that they got divorced but there wasn't any more fighting and I still got to see both of them. It wasn't till the last year of high school that things started to get hard.
My dad sunk into a deep depression and started to drink more. As an only child, I felt really responsible for helping him get back on his feet. But he didn't want any help. He just wanted me to let go.
Eventually, my dad went too far and committed suicide...
I was the one who found him... and the sight of his lifeless slump body has never left my mind.
His funeral was very small and short. I never really knew a lot about my father's family, only that my grandparents were both dead and he had a brother, but I never met him.
Not long after the burial, I moved in all of my things into my mom's house. I never really bonded with my mom. She likes to gossip and yell and pick on every little thing, and I just can't deal with her. So we just kept our distance. I kept all my problems to myself, and she just didn't care.
Not long after, my mom remarried. At first, he seemed like a friendly man... keyword "at first".
He was a very burly man, and he had a short temper. But he was never mad at my mom. No... he held in all of that anger against her and took it out... on me. In my mom's small apartment, my bedroom was right next to hers. On most nights, my room was filled with moaning and screaming from the room next to me. Being in that small room, feeling so helpless, I have never get so small in my life. But, it didn't end there...
Not long after my mom and stepfather having very loud sex, would my stepfather burst into my room.
The look of fury and menace in his eyes...
The countless searing slaps...
He would just beat me.. for no reason.
Just because he wanted to.
I wish I would've left sooner, but I had nowhere to go. I felt so alone.
The worst part was the fact that I could hear them next door to me, so that meant that my mom could hear my screams and my pleas... yet she just let it happen. She knew.
On top of the physical abuse, he would yell at me, "Don't be so fucking useless you bitch! Why don't you fight back?!"
But I couldn't. I knew that if I did, it would get worse. So I just endured it.
"What was that? Nothing?! You bitch! You answer me when I talk to you!" He yanked my jaw towards him, trying to get me to face him, but I could never look. If I looked at his face... I would start crying. And I can't cry. I won't let him see me break down.
And this abuse kept going.
He never got the response that he wanted to he kept doing it. I shouldn't have been so fucking stubborn, but my pride was bigger than my pain.
Since I wasn't doing what he wanted, he started to hurt me more, harder, and he slowly broke me down till I had nothing.
He sexually abused me on various occasions.. but he always stopped himself from going too far, I guess that was his way of showing mercy. But it didn't change the scar that he imprinted on me.
He would yell and call me horrible names. Stuff like slut, bitch, whore, fucker... and so on.
The marks he left on my body were always in spots where I could hide it with clothing, or I could put makeup over it.
I know what your thinking. Why the hell did I stay?! Well... I had no one and I held on to the fact that my mom would eventually open her eyes and save me...
But she never did...
And I was a dumbass to think that she would...

It wasn't until after graduation that my stepfather started to beat me harder, and he finally got what he wanted. I finally broke. Even though I don't remember that night in detail, I know that I was probably the worst night of my whole life leading up to it.

After that night, my life started to spiral downwards. I started to party more, I went out till I got completely smashed and sometimes I slept in the streets. I just wanted to forget my life, so I did whatever I could to do that. I eventually got a job at a local nightclub called Black Wing as a waitress and hostess, and I was eventually able to move out. And that's where I am today. In my small, rundown apartment just across the street from my work. 
Working at Black Wing has been pretty interesting... there is never a dull night and it's fun being with other people. Even though I love to party and drink, working at Black Wing has made me mature and let go of those impulses. I know when I'm working I need to be professional and focus on that job... in that way, I can make money and keep the job, but it also gives me another escape from my awful past.

I never knew that it would be here that my life would be completely changed...