Unwanted

What’s it like to have a family? To be loved? To know that someone is out there, caring for you? I was born into a family that didn’t want me. I was abused in every way possible. Ever since I was a little girl, about two or so, I remember my mommy and daddy would yell at me. They told me it was all of my fault. That, because of me, their lives were so miserable. And I, being about 5, knew no better and believed every word of it. I would pray to god at night so that he would make Mommy’s life easier at home with me. And I wished that Daddy’s day would be better than the one before. If it didn’t turn out that way, it was me who paid for it.

When Daddy was at work, I stayed with my mom at home. She slept in till two or three in the afternoon sometimes, and other days, she wouldn’t get up at all. She expected me to clean the house, make my meals for myself, and keep myself entertained. But I knew better than to make any noise at all. If I woke her, it was a sure beating. She would leave me sore. And it wasn’t so much of the beating that hurt me; it was more of the words that did the job. She called me useless, a mistake of god, an unwanted “thing”. But this was never anything compared to Daddy’s beating with his belt and mean words. Every day, he would come home mad. Angry because he didn’t make any sales at work. But I didn’t understand why it was my fault. All I knew was that I had to endure the pain. I dreaded the moment I heard his Sedan park out in the apartment’s parking lot. I would look out the window, and once I saw the beat up blue car, I would run to my room, and hide in my closet. But still, daddy always found me…and I knew the consequences for hiding from him.

After a while, I got used to it. My whole body was covered in cuts and bruises. But now, I saw it as an everyday normal thing. My friends at school would ask me if there was a problem at home. And every time, I would laugh about it and say that they were crazy. But, they knew better than that. I would have told someone, but I was scared. What if my mom or dad were to find out that I ratted them out. What would happen then? They already starved me sometimes. I got daily beatings from both of them, and sometimes, they would tell me that they didn’t want me anymore, and they left me out on the streets. Miles away from home, I would walk myself back. Tears pouring down my face, I wouldn’t look up; just stared at the ground and tried to find my way back. I would spend nights out on the streets sometimes. Scared of what events might go on around me, I always found a place that was safer for me. I was in the middle of the forest once, when my mom dropped me off. I had no clue where to go. I had never been in that place in my life. Maybe my mother had left me here because she knew I wasn’t familiar with the place. She knew I would never be able to find my way back. But she underestimated me a lot. I always found my way back; whether it was only a few blocks from our old apartment building or twenty miles from it.

The abuse started getting worse and worse by the day. Now, there were days when I didn’t even get out of bed. I stayed home from school and I thought to myself, “Why me? Why was I born into a family that hates me? Why was I born at all?”

I thought my life was horrible at the moment, but little did I know that it was about to get a whole lot worse than it had ever been…

To Be Continued.