Cont;nue

Do you remember what it was like as I bled at your feet?

I remember the way you hurt me, the way you struck me. I will not forgive. I will not forget. You hurt me in ways I hadn’t known could hurt. You made me believe that I was unlovable, untouchable, you told me that nobody would want me.

How could they want a person such as me?

Perhaps you don’t remember, so let me remind you.

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You

Referring to the person or people the speaker is addressing. With this, I address you. The man who created me. The man who shaped me. The man who destroyed me. You. You were the very start of it all.

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Rage

The feeling of violent, uncontrollable anger. The smell of her blood overwhelming my nostrils as I struck her. A sensation akin to ice settling over my veins as her sobs set the air on fire.

Power

The ability to direct or control a person or a group of people. Otherwise known as ecstasy, pure undiluted ecstasy as I towered over her. Muscles twitching as she cowered at my feet. The urge to bend down and silence her cries. Not because I had too, but because I wanted to.

Grief

Deep and unrelenting sorrow. Despair lashing through my body as she cried. She was my little girl, wasn’t she? Soft and delicate porcelain skin now corrupted with discolored bruises. Bruises caused by me. My hands. Myself. She didn’t deserve this.

Obligation

A duty or a commitment. This was a job I did out of love. I hit her because I had too. It wasn't my fault. She was the one who’d messed up again, not me. This was my job, as her father. I’m teaching her to be a better person, a better daughter. Why was she not thanking me?

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A Mother

A person designated to the care of a child. Someone meant to love and protect you when nobody else will. A job, and one you promised to uphold. You were meant to love her, your daughter, cherish her and console her. You failed, didn’t you? I’ll be addressing you, the woman who was supposed to protect me.

I wish you were sorry.

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Jealousy

A feeling of unhappiness caused by the want of what someone else has. Though I wouldn’t admit it, I was jealous of her. She was beautiful, skinny, wherever she went laughter followed her. I wanted what she naturally has. I didn’t get any of those things, and so I hated her for it.

Spite

The desire to hurt someone. I wanted to hurt her, I wanted to watch her sob and scream and bleed, because I am not any of the things she is. She is all the things I am not, she has always gotten all of the love, all of the attention that I was supposed to get. What made her so much better than me?

Guilt

A feeling of shame or regret. A feeling that overwhelms me and turns the world bitter. It’s as if my throat is full of poison-coated honey and I’m left to suffocate as I watch her suffer and weep. It’s not my fault, is it? I wasn’t the one who’d broken the rules, I wasn’t in the wrong here.

Seeing her bleed is not easy to watch, and so I turn my head aside.

Helplessness

The inability to protect or defend oneself. Doesn’t she understand that I’m afraid of him too? I’ve seen the ways he’s struck her, the methods of which he’s used to hurt her. I’ve watched her skin turn indigo with bruises. I’ve seen her eyes swell up with tears, falling down her cheeks like silent rain. I wish I could save her, save her from him and from everybody else.

But would it really be worth it?

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Me

Used by the speaker to address his or herself. You couldn’t have been a better daughter if you tried, alright? You did what you could, and you did it to the best of your ability. This a burden you were not designated to carry, you were not the fault for the actions they’ve carried out. You were a kid, a child. Protecting others, and them, should not have been your responsibility. You know that they may not care for you, they may not love you, but other people do.

You matter too, you always have.

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Agony

A feeling of extreme mental or physical suffering, ie, the feeling of a malicious black belt striking the soft, innocent skin of my back. Fire scorching across my skin, burning wherever was struck.

Rebirth

The process of being born again. The process of picking up the splintered, broken pieces of myself and stitching myself whole. A painful process, but a necessary one. How else would I have endured it?

Strength

The power to resist force, or temptation. The process of picking myself back up after I’d been beaten down. The process of putting down that blade, or that piece of glass, on nights where giving in would’ve been the easiest thing to do. The process of smiling. Laughing. Shouting. The feeling of being whole when everyone has tried to convince you you’re broken.

Continuation

The action of carrying something on over a period of time, the process of being carried on. The process of healing, the process of growing. Bandaging yourself back up and dusting the dirt off of your shoulders. Life is so beautiful, isn’t it? There’s no reason to sit and wallow on all the bad that’s happened. Not when you have the chance to make something beautiful out of it.

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The Ending.

The furthest part of a story, otherwise known as the climax. I hope you’ve gained something from this piece of writing. I hope that maybe, in some way, I’ve even managed to inspire you. Inspire you to keep holding on, to keep your stubborn heart beating. You deserve every good thing this world has to offer, you deserve to be happy.

You deserve to be loved, I swear you do.

This world needs you in it, who else is going to make the whole place seem less bleak?

Continue on, dear friend.

Because the world can be beautiful, if only you’re here to see it.