What Have I Done

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Luna
First Story please be kind with your words. This is not for young readers. This story has mature themes and requires 18+ ages.

Short story about depression, abuse, and the loss of oneself.

Submitted: July 24, 2016

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Submitted: July 24, 2016

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What Have I Done

By: Luna Belle

 

 

I’m not sure when it started. I think I have always been this way. Depressed, cranky, over all bitchy, and not to just strangers. But to the people that I genuinely love. I destroy everything. I’m not sure why… and I don’t know if I want to know. I’m weak. I can’t handle simple truths. I’m always afraid. I always blame someone else. I lie… I hurt people… and I hate myself. You want to know why? Well too damn bad.

#

I was three years old sitting in the back of my father’s car, my mother at the window asking me if I wanted to go with mommy or stay with daddy. This is my earliest memory. I choose my mom, and so did my older brother. It was for the better right? Who knows?

My next memory is this man. This new man coming into my home. I hadn’t seen my father in a long time. I was four, and this strange man gave me gold teddy bear earrings for my birthday. He wanted me to treasure them, and I did. I wasn’t sure if the abuse started before or after that. I guess my young mind clung on to something happy. It all started then, with a tiny pair of earrings.

#

There was so many people coming to my dad’s house that summer. I was eleven. They asked me so many questions. Do you like your mom’s husband? Does he do nice things for you? How long have you been staying with your father? Do you like it here? I was confused. I didn’t know what was going one. All I did was tell my step-mom that my mom’s husband took a shower with me. Was that wrong? He had taken baths with me my entire life, taught me how to wash my body, even showed me. Didn’t all step-daddies do that?

No. They don’t. I didn’t know it was wrong until I asked. It was the first time I ever asked. Apparently boys aren’t daddies are supposed to be naked with their daughters. How was I supposed to know? I was a little girl… and he was acquitted of all crimes.

#

 I was a freshman when I started to get flashbacks and nightmares. I knew without a doubt that what he did to me was wrong. I felt dirty. Gross. Filthy. I told my mom about these nightmares. Reoccurring… the same every night for weeks at a time. I’m in the bathtub, and I am just relaxing enjoying a bath. The feeling of being watched washed over me and I look towards the door. All I see is a camera lens. Staring me right in the face.

My mom has this look on her face, and I can tell it isn’t just a nightmare. Her new boyfriend who had become my father, had the same look. The look that said, “It’s true. It’s all true.” They sat me down and told me they had found a dvd of me when I was little. I was in the bathtub, playing with some toys, and the only sound that could be heard was heavy breathing. I didn’t need to see the disc to know who it was, or what he was doing. My mother said she destroyed it, and I was okay with that. But I started to feel odd. Not happy, it was hard to laugh. It was hard to be nice to my friends.

So I started to fake it. All of it. Smiles. Laughter. Joy. Happiness. They were all fake. A big fat lie, and they all fell for it.

#

My junior year I was in a new school. My mother transferred us because my older brother was being bullied by a teacher. I was the new kid. No one knew me. Even though the school she moved us back to was the school in my home town. I went to school there young fives through half of second grade. But no one remembered me. So I could become this new person. I started making people call me by a different name, telling the teachers that it was what I preferred. It worked. I was a whole new me. Or so I thought.

I was never more wrong. I just tried to push it away. Ignore it. I guess that’s when I started to ignore eating too.

#

For my sixteenth birthday my mother let me get a tattoo. We got one together. It was so cool to do something like that with your mom. Everyone at school wanted to see my tattoo. It was the new thing. So I would pull up my shirt and show them the lily on my ribcage. It was fascinating to everyone. I never got a tattoo before that. It was my first one. But I realized I liked the pain. It was glorious.

#

I met a boy. A sweet boy. Who thought that if he loved me enough that I would love him too? I think… I tried, but we were teenagers. Teenagers don’t love forever. I got attached to him. Thinking that fascination and hormones were love, and when he was shipped off to boot camp. I was distraught. The distraction that I had for a year and a half was gone, and wouldn’t be coming back for three months. What was I to do?

#

It’s been three years now and that sweet boy has turned into a man. We were talking marriage, and children. But I guess that wasn’t on the agenda for him. He came home on leave one weekend and slept with someone else. I yelled. I screamed. I cried. And I cried some more.

Then I got angry. So angry that I got drunk. Then I kept getting drunk, because then I couldn’t feel the hurt, and I could ignore the dreams again. Last time it was a memory uncovering itself. I knew it was this time too. It was so vivid.

****

Age 7; I had just gotten out of the bath and was heading to my room to take a bath. But he stopped me. “go to the living room now, you can take your nap there.”

“But I need to get dressed.”

“Just do as you are told.”

So I did. I went into the living room and laid down on the couch. In my towel. Still wet from the bath. My baby sister was watching television, and I knew what was coming. It was weird, and made me uncomfortable. He laid me down flat and pull my towel away. Laid one top of me, and that’s when it started to hurt. A lot. I cried.

My sister comes and asks me to play, he doesn’t stop, and I can’t say a word. There is so much pain. She walks away. My innocence follows her.

****

So I drink some more.

#

I want to die. No one loves me. I am filthy, no good. Why would anyone what me? I slowly start taking a pill one at a time.

I’m up to ten. My phone beeps. Someone from the newest dating app liked my photo and said I was beautiful.

I start to question what I was doing and go throw up; fifteen pills.

#

New Year’s Eve… about three months later… still drinking… but there is another man. I meet him online and he seems sweet, impatient, but sweet. I give him my phone number and we start talking. After a few days I am comfortable enough to meet him. So he comes over with beer and pizza. Awe I like him already. My muscles ache, and he rubs my back. I haven’t been touched in a year so it felt so nice. Of course it escalates.

He kisses feel like fire on my skin and I am in a rush to get things started. I’m a birth control so it should be okay… Right?

#

We have been seeing each other for three weeks now. Nonstop sex every time, until that little pink plus changed our lives. I was scared. What if it was a girl? What if she turns out like me? Will she hate everything? Will she be numb to the world? Will she be completely destroyed by one filthy man? What do I do?

Help me… I think I need to start eating again.

#

Nineteen and a half weeks along and we find out the sex of the baby. It’s a girl. We decide to get married, and I am no longer drinking.

#

September 28th, 2014 my daughter arrives. I am genuinely happy for the first time in years. This tiny little bundle came crashing into this world via a C-section, and I cried happy tears. So tiny… so breakable… my beautiful baby… Girl.

Then the fear started.

#

She will be two soon. I am going to therapy sessions. I don’t think that this will help me. I have become paranoid that he will find me, that he is coming for my daughter, and that he will take her from me.

I’ve grown angry, passive aggressive, nothing is ever my fault, and I hate myself.

How can I protect my daughter, when I couldn’t even protect myself?

#

(Present Day)

 

What have I done? Have a ruined my marriage? Why can’t I get past something that ended twelve years ago? Why does it still haunt me? These are questions that I need answers to, but why do I feel like I don’t want to know.

#

I’m weak. I can’t handle simple truths. I’m always afraid. I always blame someone else. I lie… I hurt people… and I hate myself…

I hate myself…I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself… I hate myself…

 

 

 

Someone help me…


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