Another day of pain to face. This is what I hated most. I am lying in bed wishing someone would help stop the hurt. I was only 6 when the hurting started. I’m now 8 and it still continues to go on. Ever since my mother got into the drugs and alcohol, it’s only gotten worse for me. She never seemed to regret doing these things. “What did I do to deserve this momma?” “Why do you hate me so much mommy?” These were thoughts that had crossed my mind every day.

My father worked all the time to try and keep a roof over our heads. He didn’t know about the things I was being put through due to his work schedule keeping him away for long periods of time. My father was everything to me. He showed me nothing but love and affection. When he was home for the few days at a time, I was safe. She put on a show when he was around, acted like what she was doing wasn’t happening. It was a break for me, for I knew when he left the pain would start again.

My family used to be happy at one point. My mother used to love me, but now she only has a hatred for me and my presence. The things she has done to me not only have scarred me physically but emotionally. I never really did understand what I did to make her this way. I just figured it was all my fault. Maybe she never actually loved or wanted me, maybe I deserved the pain she put me through. I don’t really know.

I question things all the time. I’m not good with letting people in. I’ve always worried that if I told anyone what was going on, it would just get worse and no one would believe me. Kids make fun of me at school for the bruises and scars that cover my body. I guess I never really do get to escape the pain. I’m constantly surrounded by people who hurt me. Some hurt me emotionally and verbally, others physically. For my mother, it was both verbally and physically.

My mother decided drugs and alcohol had meant more than me, her own child, in her life. She shunned me away like there was something wrong with me. She would constantly hit me and call me names. It had only gotten worse when she was drinking. Listening to the glass bottles hit the counter is what scared me most. I knew that she would soon be in my room ready for another round.

When I was little she used to play games with me and scare away the monsters under the bed. She would rock me back to sleep after a bad dream and tell me everything would be okay. She used to say she would always be there for me but I guess she lied. The biggest lie I ever believed from her was when she told me she loved and cared about me. When people say the world has many bad people inside of it, I never did think one would be right in my home with me. I guess I liked to think she was a good person, a hero. She’s proved me wrong for sure. Everything I used to think was real and true was just a bunch of lies. Maybe one day she will love and care again but then again she probably won’t.

I quickly snap back out of my thoughts. I’m surrounded by the sound of her banging on my door. I quickly jump out of bed and try to hide. “Get out here now!” she yells. A tear starts to roll down my face. I’m filled with fear as I slowly walk to my door. I open the door, she grabs my arm and pulls me out. “Look what you’ve done!”, she yells as she shoves me into the kitchen. I look down and see broken glass all over, most likely from her last night. “Mommy, I didn’t do this,” I say while looking down at the floor.

“Don’t lie idiot! Yes, you did!”, she yells as she slaps me across the head. I start crying at this point. She shoves me down to the ground, “stop your crying and clean this up now!” I start to clean up the glass as she walks off. I finish cleaning it up and go back to my room. A few hours later I hear some loud banging.  I slowly walk out of my room to see my mother has already started drinking again. She stumbles around the house yelling about some nonsense. I turn around to go back to my room when I feel her cold hand touch my shoulder.

I know what’s about to happen. It usually starts like this, the pain. She pulls me down to the ground and starts yelling at me. Telling me how horrible I am and how I’ve done nothing but screw up her life. She begins hitting and kicking me. I have tears rolling down my face as I try to block the hits. She grabs me by my hair and pulls me into the front room where she shoves me into a wall. As she’s about to hit me again someone comes bursting in through the door.

I look over to see my father. “Get your hands off of her, now!” he yells. He runs up, shoves her out of the way and grabs me in his arms. He takes me and runs out the door. He puts me in the car and leaves. With tears still rolling down my face, I mumble, “Daddy, you saved me.” “I’m so sorry sweetie. I had no clue this was going on,” he says. He’s right, he didn’t. We drive for a bit before pulling over. My father pulls me out of the car and starts checking me to make sure I’m not severely hurt. He wraps me in his arms and lifts me up, “Don’t worry, it’s over. It’s all over.” And just like that, the pain really was over. I had felt a feeling of safety and relief at that moment as I sat in his arms. I knew he would make it all stop; the pain I was put through constantly. He had done what I had wished someone had done sooner. He made it all just go away; it all stop.