The Life Of Me Part 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
“Teresa your nothing, you’re a worthless piece of shit”. My mother stood over me, glaring at me. I had told the man that tried to rape me that she wasn’t there, and that she wasn’t buying his drugs anymore.

Another short story of my life...another peice to the puzzle that i life...another wonderment that i'm alive

Submitted: March 12, 2009

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Submitted: March 12, 2009

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The first time I saw my father stand up for me, I was scared. I was happy. I was too many emotions to mention, bundled up in one body. It happened three days after the previous “incident”.
 
“Teresa your nothing, you’re a worthless piece of shit”. My mother stood over me, glaring at me. I had told the man that tried to rape me that she wasn’t there, and that she wasn’t buying his drugs anymore. He had come back, because “my mother figure” said it was okay. I have the cordless phone in my hand, ready to call the police if he comes back into the house again, be near me again. “Do you want me to end up in jail”? I nod towards her knowing, that if she’s in jail that she can’t abuse the drugs that are turning her head into mush. Drugs that should have affected me to be a crack child, because my mother is a crack whore.
I begin to dial 911 and I watch her face change, from trying to be serious and “lovable” to a full monster, and monster deranged. I type the 9 but before anything else could happen she smacked me across my face and I felt a twinge near my eye, as her ring smacks my face. I kick her. And she raises her hand to smack me again.My dad came from the kitchen in one long stride pushing her away from me.
“Don’t you dare touch my daughter ever again”. I could see anger in his eyes, as he glared her down. I sighed closing my eyes and hugging myself ready to give in to the world, ready to give into the temptation to kill myself. The yelling became too much so I walked outside, the rain falling heavily down on me. This was the first time I loved the rain, it covered my tears that ran so fast from my eyes. 
 
I learned later that my father had hit her when I left but not that hard, just hard enough to let her know how he felt. How I felt. How my sisters felt. How my brother felt. How the world felt when she used drugs. How it affected us just as much as it was affecting her. This also leads to the first time she left us.


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