Little Peach

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Little Peach is a story about overcoming adversity. A premature baby girl is born to parents who don't care for her properly, an incredibly selfish mother and an alcoholic father. This story takes
you through the first few years of her life, and how her experiences molded her to become the person she is today.

Submitted: September 23, 2018

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Submitted: September 23, 2018



“I'll always be your little peach.”


Mother, Love, Peace, Everything.


I was born in the sticky hot summer, on July 25, 1982. I was lucky to be alive, coming into the world at only 23 weeks gestation, weighing in at a mere 1 pound and 11 ounces. I was born to a mother who defied every aspect of the word. I was ready to escape, and got out of her diseased womb as quickly as I could. I must have known even then that I would find no comfort, security, or love there. I had to search for it elsewhere, but lucky for me it was not hard to find.


You might think to yourself that my father came to the rescue. Surely with a mother that could not love me, and didn't know how, he would be able to step up and fill both roles. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but nothing could be farther from the truth. My mother struggled to love anyone but herself, but my father did not struggle with it, in fact he was perfectly at peace.


He only loved himself, and he was quite alright with that. He was a very weak man, weak in spirit, and weak in his mind and body. His spirit was weak because he gave in to every pleasure that this world had to offer him, especially a certain pleasure that is found at the top of a massive tower of beer cans, cigarette butts, and god knows what else. It made him feel like a man to physically beat, verbally abuse and control 2 children who could not defend themselves.


If I hadn't been rescued, I wouldn't be here to tell my story. My mother was a 22 year old woman child, who could not care for herself, much less a fragile, severely premature baby. My father was never around, and when he was around he wanted to be left alone with his 12 packs of Bud and the TV. If my brother or I ever dared walk in front of it he would yell at the top of his lungs, so much so that you would think he was in actual physical pain. He wanted nothing to do with us, he wanted nothing more than to block us out, to block everything out, because he thought the world had done him wrong.


He was the type that thought the world owed him something, though he'd done nothing to deserve anything at all. He was the type of person who added no value at all to the world, because he lived only for himself. In all my years of being subjected to him, I can't think of any kind thing that he ever did. Believe me I've tried, because I wanted to find some good in him if I could. There was nothing but selfishness and a black heart there.


My brother and I learned early on to fear when Dad was coming home, and to make ourselves scarce when he was around. My brother was just a toddler at the time, but I protected him. We would hide in my room so Dad could not find us, crawling underneath the dirty mattress that was my bed, on the damp, crusted carpet with the rat droppings, the roaches and the ants.


I remember counting down the hours until he would come home, a knot forming at the pit of my stomach. A cold fear washing over me, something that still makes me nauseous to this day if I think about it hard enough. I still can see in my mind's eye, his figure approaching our dingy apartment steps walking through the tall grass in the hot Florida summer, ready to beat his tiny little girl, for whatever he felt I had done wrong that day.


In my case it was for bothering to exist in the first place. When I was born, they were told by the doctors that I was going to die, and that they should prepare themselves for that fact. I know they were relieved, and once they realized I might survive, they started hating me for it, and they resented my resilience.


Sometimes we have to go through a storm before we can see the rainbow at the end...


End of Part 1. Part 2 to follow.

© Copyright 2019 Marigold Peach. All rights reserved.

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