The Exact Opposite of a Growing Perpetuity

Chapter Nine

9
#yourword

I wanna know what he did.

I don't ever wanna do to you what he did to you.

How do you define emotional abuse? I need to know so that I don't ever have to make you feel that way.

Your words. But not now. It wasn't something you had told me. It was something that you will tell me. Only, you're not a man of your word.

Perhaps I talk an awful lot about how I'm still standing after growing up in a home with an abusive father and feeling like there's no escape. I wasn't looking for empathy, really. I believe I used it as an explanation for my behavior, which wasn't any better. Why I wanted to do things I wasn't allowed to do. A form of rebellion that I would unleash. He wouldn't know about those, but that wasn't the point. Nothing in my life amounted to any man or boy that took away my pieces, I didn't let them hold that kind of stature.

I would dress a certain way because I wasn't allowed to, it gave me a sense of control and empowerment of who I was as a person. But really, what difference did it make? It was so easy to just tell someone to 'ignore', or to go to a therapist and 'let it all out'. It's funny, I read somewhere that 'people go to therapy to fix things that people in their life who won't go to therapy ruined' or something along those lines. But what change does that make when you can't change your surrounding. How does the law require a woman to be bound to a man forever? No sense of freedom. Why do they use religion to disguise their disgusting opinionated culture to downgrade and objectify a human being? Only had me think of the how 'to escape the labyrinth' as fairly quoted by John Green himself.

There really wasn't a way out. There weren't many options or decisions one could make to run away. It's made to sound so easy; call someone to help you. Just take all the money and leave. You're eighteen you make your own decisions. Leave everyone behind. Just report it to the police. Why didn't you register proof? Ugh those words over and over again.

Too many thoughts and memories made their way through my head as I noted down all the topics I wanted to cover in my new book titled The Society [that I grew up in]. My first non fiction about the realities of people and their survival under the pressurized mentality that I had to grow up in. This book wasn't for women. It was for the people. All women and men, those abused and those who weren't, emotional or physical scarring, those who were never aware because the adults in their lives were the winners of creating a new world for the generations to come, and so much more.

I needed to try and isolate myself from my opinions. As an author, I don't get to have my own opinion, especially in non fiction. I get to create people with beliefs and opinions, and all I can do with their beliefs and opinions is narrate them. But as soon as I was finished noting down my fifth point to be covered in the very first chapter of the book, my cousin called.

I made plans with Chloe last minute. It wasn't often that we hung out, but when we both finally made time for each other, we did it for a whole day and spent it to the fullest. We did give up on making real plans though, every time I made one with her we'd end up doing something different and I would get random OCD glitches whenever I wrote it down in my planner with a pen and couldn't make the changes. I wasn't a user of the corrector.

"Are you dresseddd?" My cousin, Chloe, screeched over the phone. I could hear her dog barking in the background.

"Yes." I lied. "I just need to find my keys." Another lie, as I looked at the fluffed up black key chain on my mother's car keys. I was no where near ready, but it wouldn't take me too long. What was there to get dressed up for when you're going hiking.