Diary

September 6th 2020

My life has been a living hell since the day I was born. I don't mean this in the typical sense, oh, 'I've had a few struggles.' No, my life has been quite literally hell. From a young age, I had to become an adult, take care of myself, my younger brother, and abusive drug-addicted mother, not that she has ever been a mother. I've been abused physically, mentally, emotionally, and sexually, and each has shaped the way I am now. When I share my experience, I often hear the phrase "God only gives you what you can handle" because much of my family is religious. It's devoured at me for years, those words. Such ugly things they were and are, and often I think of them in my dark times when my mind won't quit. So I've written a poem on it, trying to convey exactly what I feel for these words, as I see them as a backhanded remark. It's called "I was a child."

I was a child.

I did not need to be strong.

I needed to be saved,

I needed a shield from the cruelty of life.

I was a child.

I didn't mean to be a burden,

I didn't mean to disappoint.

I was supposed to be a child.

I didn't need to be perfect.

I needed to be protected.

I was supposed to be the child.

I mean to make mistakes,

I needed a teacher.

I was never truly a child.

Have you ever had so much pain in your life that your mind shuts off? So much that it wipes parts of your life away to protect you. Despite all I know of my trauma, it terrifies me to know that there is more. So much more that I can't remember. Things so horrific that my child kind couldn't handle, my mind instead shielded me like family was meant to. I can't remember most of my life before the age of 12; huge chunks are just taken from me. The memories I did keep are far and few between, littered with anger and pain. I can't think of a single, wholly good memory, an entirely good time I've ever had.

I was asked recently to think of my favorite memory, something that borough me joy from my childhood. I couldn't. I could not believe one single thing; instead, I lied. I felt ashamed of it, the inability to do such a simple task. Except it isn't simple, nothing is when trauma dictates your life and how you live it.