Is anybody out there?

When I was five, I wanted this Barbie Book set. After much debate, and a few weeks, my mother caved in. She made me promise to read every single one, because they were expensive. She said there would be tests on each book, so I had to read them. I read most. but never all. My mother told me that she "knew I could never finish something I started."
When I was six, I wanted to play the piano. I'd go over to my friends house, just to look at it. I was never allowed to touch it. My mother told me that I couldn't get one. It would be pointless to buy one because she "knew" it was just a phase.
When I was seven, I wanted a four wheeler. We had the backyard for them, and my cousin had one. I wanted one more than anything. My mother told me they would tear apart the yellow and brown grass. My intrests meant nothing when it came down to the grasses best intrest.
Over the next few years, I wanted to join the baseball team, get guitar lessons, I even wanted to perfect the act of archery. I was never allowed to do any of this. They were all phases.

My aunt and uncle never belittled thier kids. If they were serious about something, nothing stood int hier way. My unlce worked his ass off to make sure his kids could become something. He worked with them to make sure they made it. It didn't matter if they were intrested in a month. He allowed them to male the descion on if they liked it or not. He allowed them to make the decsion of it being just a phase, or a dream. Ive always looked up to him for that. And sometimes I sit and I wish he could have been my father. I wondr what it would be like to not have limits in what I learned, or loved.

I'm cynical because I was made to be cynical. To always judge myself, and others around me. I never felt good enough growing up. This translates into not believeing in myself today. I can't include myself into anything ecause I was taught not to. I don't believe in myself because Ive never been allowed to believe in myself. When I was ten or so... the father and I were home alone. I dont remember what was said. I remeber the storyline though. I did something wrong, and he got angry. As I was taking a shower, he busted down the door, tore open the curtain, and attacked me. I was ashamed, and horrified. The anger in his eyes. In his hand. He made me believe that when someone gets angry, its ohkay to physicaly attack the person that angered you. Fear was always in my mind. It was basically my life. On countless occasions, I remember hiding from him. Id hide between my bed and the wall, with the pillows and comforter over my body. Countless nights I spent sleeping in my closet, listening for footsteps.


Ive always been into art. So much so, that I was badgered constantly for trying to create it. Drawing on my desk, painting on my walls. Staying up night after night trying to conceal my creativity, so I couldn't be blamed. I was made to hide what I did, everywere I went. I was indeed a happy child. I had so much potential to be something, and I knew it. But I also knew the world didn't. I started reclusing myself. why? because there was nothing else I could do. I couldn't escape the confines of unhappiness.

I've always tried to be kind. Somewhere along every line of me trying to do this, I was cut short. Broken down. Made to be a horrible person. Especially an indecent daughter.
When I was younger, my mother went out constantly. One time I remember vaccuming. A simple task I thought I could handle. My mother shot me down. I dind't do it right. I never could. I'd try to do the dishes. Unsucessful. I left water spots, or some food residue. When we had our pool, it was my duty to clean it. I as short, so skimming the pool was hard for me. She'll forever tell me I'm wrong about this, but once I didnt do it right, we had afight outside, and she told me she hated me. Dissapointment surrounded me. I tried to make my entire family breakfast once. I woke up early, an hour earlier than anyone on a sunday would wake. I had eggs set out, toast, sausage... I couldn't even get the eggs cracked before my mother came storming into the room, demanding me to tell her what was occuring. "Im making everyone break." clean this shit up and go back to bed, you woke me up." Id try to do things with her. "Lets go shopping", "lets go out to eat"... "I don't feel like going anywhere.", "I just went grocery shopping. Eat here." It was a lost cause.

I'm not too sure why Im doing this. I can pick apart my past as much as I want, but nothings going to change. I can try to make as much sense as to why I am who I am as much as I'd like, ut it's not going to change me. Pointing fingers only increases the pain I feel when I think about them. Exhistence is a bitch. Case closed. End of stroy. Fin.