My fists beat against the couch. Tears sting the scars on my face. Nothing matters anymore, now that I’ve failed. I didn’t get in. I didn’t pass the test. I didn’t get in. It’s time to say goodbye. I’ll never see my friends again. The bonds I’ve made, the lives I’ve touched, the games I’ve played – gone, forever.
I was only eight when my life changed. Continue reading
My family members tell me that when I was little, my mom refused to change my diaper. My dad did, sometimes, but usually my grandmother would. Even at a young age, my grandmother was stepping in to provide the support I needed, when my mom wouldn’t dare to do so.
My mom made me cry a lot when I was little. Almost every day. I remember all the little mistakes I made, the endless missteps of an inexperienced toddler, always met with a sharp hand or stinging words. I don’t think I would have survived if it hadn’t been for my grandmother, who has lived with my family since the day I was born.
Every time my mother abused me, I would run to my grandmother. Continue reading