My Broken Life

Memories from my tattered past fill my mind as I fall into a hypnotic trance staring at the long wooden pendulum that swings back and forth on the old grandfather clock that sits in the corner. I stare past the clock, into what seems like another world. A world that has long been forgotten. I see a blond little girl playing by herself outside. She is drawing on the sidewalk with blue chalk.

As she sits there ever so innocent with not a care in the world her dad is at another house playing with a child not his own. It is the child of his mistress, a woman he has been with all along. Inside her mother locks herself away in her room and cries, forgetting about her baby girl all alone in the front yard. The blond haired, brown eyed girl was five at the time. Even at that age she was old enough to know what was going on. A tear slides down my cheek as I realize that the girl is me ten years ago. Tears flood my eyes as I remember more and more. I remembered later that night when my daddy, the one I looked up to most in this world would come home drunk and fight with my mother. I would sit in the living room with my brother who was ten at the time, and scream at the top of my lungs so I couldn’t hear the crying and yelling from the back room. When I had cried myself out I would ever so slowly go into my mothers room and sit on her lap and listen to the two people who were supposed to be married and have a family shatter my life. “Mommy, why are you crying, and why does daddy keep yelling like that?” I found myself asking that same question over and over. And the more I asked the angrier they got. “Your too little to understand, go play and leave us alone!” That was always their reply. Even at that age I was alone. Finally after months of the same routine my dad took his stuff and moved in with his mom. Soon the divorce came ant then a custody trial. They agreed on joint custody and every week my brother and I switched parents. When time came to go with my dad I dreaded it. We didn’t go too far though because my grandma’s house was right across the alley and that’s where my dad was staying until he found a place of his own. When it was dad’s week I hardly ever saw him. Me and my brother had to stay in the same room which wasn’t too bad until I turned six . Before my birthday me and my brother became close. He would hold me and tell me it was ok and that we would always stick together no matter what. Days, weeks, and months went by an I hadn’t seen my dad more than five or six times. The funny thing is, I loved my dad more than anything and always made excuses for him. I hated my mom with a bitter passion. I would always ask her why she couldn’t make daddy happy, and why she never loved him as much as she should have. Now at age 15 I realize that my father isn’t worth loving. After I was about six and a half is when things went from bad to worse for me. Now my brother and I were pretty much living at home except on weekends. My mom worked and it was summer so we were home alone A LOT. It was in June or July when my brother, now eleven almost twelve began to molest me. I remember thinking it was all a game and I was curious about boys and girls, and their differences. My brother would lock me in his room and tell me to take my cloths off and lay down on the bed, he told me that we were going to play “doctor” and I was the sick one. I thought it was fun because I had always wanted to be a doctor. Days of this would go on and each time he did something different and called it a new name. He made me touch him and do things I didn’t like and when I said no he would beat me and hurt me until I gave in and promised not to tell mom or anyone else. I can’t remember how many years it went on for, I think till I was ten, four years too long! When I was ten mom and dad got married again and things went back to normal, so normal that I blocked what my brother had done to me from my broken mind. Things were good for the first few months then dad began to drink again. He would get mean when he drank. He only hit me a few times, but he almost killed my brother. One day when we got home from school my dad had received a letter from the school stating that my brother had gotten a detention for messing around in class. I remember cowering in the corner as my dad backhanded my 15 year old brother and sent him crashing to the floor. Dad sat on him and smashed his head off the kitchen floor three times until my brothers face was covered in blood and he couldn’t move. I was so scared I couldn’t move. Silent tears escaped my dark eyes as I sat in the corner and pissed myself. I got hit for that, but not bad. It only left a small red mark below my right eye. My brother told mom that he was in a fight at school and dad got off again. Things got better once again, dad stopped drinking and I stayed away from both my parents. I locked myself away a lot, but never remembering my past till now. When I reached the age thirteen I had more friends and was a bad ass, more or less. I got in fights almost every day and began drinking. Dad was back to his usual shit, only this time I saw it with my own two eyes. We fought all the time. I started drinking and smoking weed almost every day. My dad tapped the phones trying to catch me in the act, and to see what my mom was telling his mistress’s husband. Things got bad for a few weeks, my mom was almost killed by that dumb bitches husband. He even came to our house with a gun, I wasn’t here though. Dad never caught me, I was too smart for him and his petty tricks. I now full out hated both my parents and was either drunk or stoned when I was home. I became really depressed and tried to kill myself a total of 13 times in one year, I don’t know why I never actually died, I guess I just figured that I was already dead inside so why make a big mess? I stopped hanging out with the majority of my friends and started devising my escape plans. One night I had it, my parents were gone and I had the car keys so me, my best friend, and her boyfriend, also a good friend of mine stole my parents brand new Dodge Durango. We left on a Friday night and drove into the sunset. We ended up in Nevada, from Montana where we lived, and where I still do. We only had $60 and the only thing we bought was a small bag of chips and a pop, I didn’t have any of neither. We drove around in some big places and stopped to play in a huge park in Idaho. We reached Nevada on a Sunday with no more money and an empty gas tank. Those three days were the freest I have ever felt. The cops found us and we spent one night in Juvenile Hall. The next day my parents came and got us with another guy and we all went home. When I got home I was even more depressed and attempted to kill myself five more times, but my parents watched me like a hawk and I was caught every time. Things cooled down for a bit when I was 14, I was still into drugs and stuff though. I never left my room for almost a complete year. Now that I’m 15, and almost 16 I have a bitter hate for both parents, even stronger now than when I was younger. Mom kicked dad out and now wants him back again, but I won’t let that happen so they play their games behind my back and I watch and laugh at how much they are pushing me away. My mom and I fight constantly, and my brother moved out. I have flashbacks of what he did to me ever since I moved into his room two and a half or three years ago. I can’t sleep and my parents don’t even notice enough to see the scares on my wrists to know that something is wrong. I’m at breaking point and just needed to confess my broken past so my soul can find some ease before I die