There are days that I wish I was dead, or I wasn't born. At the very least, that I wasn't me. And I feel, no one gives a shit if I were dead. I feel like a slave to my own mind, and every negative thing I think or say about myself is true. I see a person in the mirror 10 times larger than I really am. And a body with scars and bruses caused by my own hands. If it's true that "mutilation is the most sincere form of flattery" ..well then, I must really love myself.
It all really started when I was eight-years-old. Everyone called me names; Chubby, round, pudgy. All the names you can call a person that was really "appropriate". If you can even call it that. I started to see myself as fat, and out of shape and not like normal kids. (To tell you the truth, I've never felt normal. Could be from my leg being turned in until I was eleven, or could be because I am just weird.) One day, I found some diet pills in a cabnet and started taking them. I soon found myself losing weight, five pounds down in a week. I used the pills until they were almost gone, and ever since, I've always had a bad relationship with my body and food. At the age of twelve I started throwing up, and not eating and feeling guilty if I ate more than 400 calories a day. To this day I still struggle with my weight, even though I do not throw up anymore, I still have urges.
Not having the one person in my life that I love more than anyone on this planet, my Daddy.. affected my self esteam as well. I didn't know the love of a father until recently, and because of that, from twelve til the beginning of fourteen I started doing things normal girls would do at seventeen or eighteen. I thought the only way to feel love, actual love, was by letting men do whatever the hell they wanted to me. They were all underage as well, so it wasn't legally rape. But at age twelve I lost my virginity, and you can call me a slut.. I was immature. I didn't have a clue what I was doing and what could have happened to me if I wasn't careful. Hell, I wasn't careful. Speaking of hell, this was all done in a so-called "Church" where they say they "Care for the children so much", yet something like this slips under their noses.
Everytime I gave another BJ or hand job, or everytime I was made feel bad for not giving a guy what he wanted, I felt horrible.. but when I actually did the act, I felt even worse. In June of 2009 I started cutting my wrists, and arms. I just wanted it to all stop. The touching, the yelling, and when no one was yelling, me.. screaming at myself inside my head.. I couldn't take it anymore. I would carve "Fuck up" on my wrists and tell myself "Nobody loves you, you are a worthless piece of shit!" And finally, in 2010 I tried killing myself, twice. Once in my bathroom, another time out in the open. I tried hanging myself on a tree branch. I hung there until I was close to passing out, then heard a voice telling me how much he loved me, and then I broke free and dropped to the ground. I recognized that voice from somewhere.. I didn't know until a year later, that the voice I heard, was my fathers.
I have no idea why I am writing this.. Maybe it will help me heal. Maybe it wil help me realize.. the past is the past. And I can't change it. Maybe it will help me move on. I just know, I have the most important person back in my life. And I will never look back. I haven't cut, nor have I threw up in 9 months.. thanks to my Daddy.
I love you so much, Dad. Thank you..
© Copyright 2016 MorganLitchfield. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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