Home?

Promise Me.

TW// abuse, alcohol, self-harm, eating disorder.

 I haven't always been able to smile like this; easy and for the most part, genuine. Even though it's nearly been a year, it's nowhere near simple to forget where I was and how low I had sunk in my mental health. That's not to say that it's gotten entirely better, but I'm not at all where I was. To be as blunt and as honest as possible, my biological father was a drunk. He probably still is.  
 Not sure exactly when it started, but then, there's a lot I don't remember, not just that little detail. According to my therapist, I have the trauma to thank for that. Apparently, after a prolonged amount of traumatic experiences, your brain literally starts to hide memories from you-- at least until you're in a position to accept them and let go. It's heavy shit.
 But, not all of them are hidden of course. I know what caused it, or at least I'm pretty sure. My dad was crushed because my mother left, and deep down he hated me for causing it, which is absolutely batshit because I was just a baby incapable of doing pretty much anything, let alone be responsible for the actions of others. But it's not like he used logic to work that out for himself. He started to drink, and suddenly all of that inward hate came out in the form of strikes against me, as in slaps and punches, and ugly words that were the truth in his mind-- things that I otherwise would have never known or heard.
 I also do know that it got worse and worse over the years, like the older I got, the more pissed off I made him because I still existed. He shoved me on the ground and held my hair in his grasp, shouting at me with his disgusting whiskey breath until the pain was so great, I was convinced he would tear a huge clump right off my scalp. He turned strangling me into a personal favorite, throwing blows at my face in the process-- I still have the scars to prove it. It got to the point where I was practically living in my bathroom, the only room that still had a lock on it. But eventually, even that room wasn't safe, because I found an even worse danger in there-- myself.
 You see, when you almost never leave a room due to danger, you find yourself depriving yourself of things you need, just to keep yourself safe. In my case, it was food. At first, it scared me, because I started getting really hungry-- I hadn't really felt that way before. But then, I started to... to like it. And on the days that I had to leave the bathroom, like for going to school, I still neglected to eat. And as it got worse, while looking through my cabinets, I found an old razor of mine at one point. I figured out a way to remove the blades. I don't think I have to explain what I did with them, or even... why, really.
 And I had no way to reach out either. I mean, I might have been able to, here and there, but I was too scared. I was always able to stay at the library after school for however long to use the computers because I walked home-- my dad was always too drunk to care anyway, let alone drive. But what I mean is, I didn't have a phone or anything of my own, so more often than not, I was completely cut off. I didn't have an abundance of friends, either. Just one. Jamie. And he was my everything, too. He still is.
 Always so perceptive when it came to me, he confronted me one day because he could tell I was descending into silence and further distance, catching me scratching the itchiness of my wrist, so I broke down and told him everything. And he listened. And he held me when I cried. I was so sure he would hate me, for some reason, but he didn't. I was so glad for that because the last thing I needed was to be entirely alone then. Jamie wanted to help, desperately, but I begged him not to tell anyone-- there is no justice in the justice system. I learned that far earlier on. As upset as the request made him, he relented. So, he always tried to find other ways to help me, the kind that allowed me to not be drowning in my own depression every hour of every day. Even if a momentary distraction, something, anything, to get my mind out of that apartment.
 One of those ways was Mark and Seán.
 He'd sent a long message to me one day at the library over IM saying that even though he knew he was in no way going through the same situation I was, he often turned to their videos when  he was feeling down and that they might give me a reason to smile or laugh or quote "at least exhale out of your nose a little". And that's exactly what they did, all of the above. In the form of two ridiculous, hilarious, and adorable people, I found my reason to keep pushing for a better future. I found my reason to survive long enough to get there,
 Even though it felt like an excruciatingly long time, I did get there. The only thing that completely threw me for a loop was that my better future was with them. And it makes me... so happy. Because here, I know I'm safe. Here, I know I can live. Really live. 
 I wouldn't change that for anything else. And I thought nothing else would change it.
"Promise me," I remember saying in the beginning. "I won't ever feel that way again. That I won't be alone again. Promise me."
 And Mark did... he promised.
 So why does it feel like it is happening again?