munchkinmandi
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- Posted: Mon, 31 Oct 2011 18:25:27 +0000
This is chapter one.
Wounds Will Never Heal
This big place, they tell me I have to be here until my dad gets better. I just sit on this bed and think to myself. "Yeah right that maniac get better, what are they mental?" I never thought a father could hurt their child as bad as he hurt me, I hated him for what he did to me. I have the burns and the scars to prove it. The burns and bruises are from him... the scars.. well... they are from me. I cut myself to make all the emotions he causes go away. I didn't know what else to do. I don't believe in alcohol because I have seen what it can do to people, and to be honest it scares me to death.
I've experienced being inches away from death. My father came home one night and held a gun to my head telling me that I'm worthless and I'm nothing to him.
My mother...She is no help, she sits in her room and waits for him to be done, she doesn't even care. I have pretty much been alone my entire life, my brother was there but he never went through the pain I did, I think my dad favored him a little bit to much. I wasn't aloud to do anything (unless I sneaked out.) I never had many friends growing up. Even if I did I would never bring them to my house out of fear. My dad was told that he was back to what was classified as normal about a year ago but anything can happen.
I wasn't really sure what to expect when the doctors told me I had to go to an institution. It was more of a play it by day kind of thing. It was nothing to special. Although some of the girls in here are fairly odd if I do say so myself. Most of them ad eating disorders, others had been in abusive relationships and needed to get out but were to paranoid to. They all had something about their story that made them simply unique.
We all had to sit sit in a community circle and talk about what was going on in our lives to make us do what we do and how we ended up there. My story was the only one where I cut myself. Everyone thought I was a little bit strange and said I never belonged. When really I was just scared to tell them the real reason I was there. I told them it was because I had to relieve stress in my body. The workers always told me I shouldn't be making up for my fathers mistakes.
I loved my daddy and him all at the same time. I couldn't possibly live without him. The only boy a little girl can ever count on is her daddy, so I never saw what he was doing as wrong until the night he took a lighter to my wrist and away the scars leaving my wrists bleeding away to nothing.
In the institution it was almost like the outside world never existed. There were no cell phone signs were posted everywhere and the internet was used for research only. You had to eat every meal placed in front of you, and you had to stick to the group level you were assigned to. There were five levels. The first level was where you had to obey every rule, if you didn't there were consequences. The second level, you had a bit more freedom but you still have to follow rules but you didn't have to be watched every minute of the day. The third level you had limited amount of internet time in a day but you still followed rules. Finally the fourth level you had limited time to use the phone and internet and you weren't watched unless you were caught on camera doing something. The worst part of it all was if you failed to do anything you were suppose to or you were caught doing something you weren't suppose you dropped back to level one and had to start all over. Once you graduated a the last level you were able to go home.
When I got home my dad was no long intoxicated I was still kind of nervous to hug him though. He looked me in the eyes and apologized for any harm he may of caused me. For the first time in a long time I saw my true dad. He and I sat for three hours and talked about me being in the institution it was kind of nice.
Although I knew something was going to go wrong I could just feel it. Even after the apologies.
Wounds Will Never Heal
This big place, they tell me I have to be here until my dad gets better. I just sit on this bed and think to myself. "Yeah right that maniac get better, what are they mental?" I never thought a father could hurt their child as bad as he hurt me, I hated him for what he did to me. I have the burns and the scars to prove it. The burns and bruises are from him... the scars.. well... they are from me. I cut myself to make all the emotions he causes go away. I didn't know what else to do. I don't believe in alcohol because I have seen what it can do to people, and to be honest it scares me to death.
I've experienced being inches away from death. My father came home one night and held a gun to my head telling me that I'm worthless and I'm nothing to him.
My mother...She is no help, she sits in her room and waits for him to be done, she doesn't even care. I have pretty much been alone my entire life, my brother was there but he never went through the pain I did, I think my dad favored him a little bit to much. I wasn't aloud to do anything (unless I sneaked out.) I never had many friends growing up. Even if I did I would never bring them to my house out of fear. My dad was told that he was back to what was classified as normal about a year ago but anything can happen.
I wasn't really sure what to expect when the doctors told me I had to go to an institution. It was more of a play it by day kind of thing. It was nothing to special. Although some of the girls in here are fairly odd if I do say so myself. Most of them ad eating disorders, others had been in abusive relationships and needed to get out but were to paranoid to. They all had something about their story that made them simply unique.
We all had to sit sit in a community circle and talk about what was going on in our lives to make us do what we do and how we ended up there. My story was the only one where I cut myself. Everyone thought I was a little bit strange and said I never belonged. When really I was just scared to tell them the real reason I was there. I told them it was because I had to relieve stress in my body. The workers always told me I shouldn't be making up for my fathers mistakes.
I loved my daddy and him all at the same time. I couldn't possibly live without him. The only boy a little girl can ever count on is her daddy, so I never saw what he was doing as wrong until the night he took a lighter to my wrist and away the scars leaving my wrists bleeding away to nothing.
In the institution it was almost like the outside world never existed. There were no cell phone signs were posted everywhere and the internet was used for research only. You had to eat every meal placed in front of you, and you had to stick to the group level you were assigned to. There were five levels. The first level was where you had to obey every rule, if you didn't there were consequences. The second level, you had a bit more freedom but you still have to follow rules but you didn't have to be watched every minute of the day. The third level you had limited amount of internet time in a day but you still followed rules. Finally the fourth level you had limited time to use the phone and internet and you weren't watched unless you were caught on camera doing something. The worst part of it all was if you failed to do anything you were suppose to or you were caught doing something you weren't suppose you dropped back to level one and had to start all over. Once you graduated a the last level you were able to go home.
When I got home my dad was no long intoxicated I was still kind of nervous to hug him though. He looked me in the eyes and apologized for any harm he may of caused me. For the first time in a long time I saw my true dad. He and I sat for three hours and talked about me being in the institution it was kind of nice.
Although I knew something was going to go wrong I could just feel it. Even after the apologies.
