But A Story

I know this is really long, but it's a personal narrative I've written for english. If you want to cry and hear something impacting, READ IT.

But A Story

 

There are some people you will meet and they will tell you that they’ve been through a lot in their lives. Whether it begins with young love or ends with heart ache. Throughout life, we all go through a beaten path. Each of us comes to a crossroad, or perhaps several crossroads, causing us to make a decision that will drastically change the course of our lives. Choosing the route we take, can only be a choice presented by ourselves.

 

At the age of 12 I had been so enjoyable. I was always smiling, going outside, I had a regular amount of friends, and even though my home life wasn’t pleasant, I managed to make due and got through it. My family had already been suffering a great deal, my stepdad drank and that wasn’t the only thing he had done. The nights that I should have been sleeping soundly were spent listening to my mother and Steve fist fighting. It was always over the drinking. The drinking caused a lot of problems. Those nights when he was the most angry, were the nights when he had come home late from work, drunk, with a bottle of whiskey in that tacky brown, paper bag that we’d seen time and time again. Being woken up for a hair brush at 2:00 a.m., holes in the walls, cursing, and yelling was quite common. Over the years things had progressed and gotten worse, but the older we had gotten, the more used to it we were. I loved my stepdad, but I knew in my heart that he didn’t love me. Growing up I had no father, and Steve was the closest thing to it. I could tell he didn’t love me on those days when we’d walk into a store and he’d make sure he told people that I wasn’t “his”. I’d tried so hard to bond with him so he wouldn’t hate me so much. I could never understand what I had really done to have him hate me, and I still don’t, and probably never will. I accepted that I would never have a father the day he screamed in my face that he hated me over and over again. After that day, we had become distant, and he used every excuse he could to either spank me, or scream at me. It was the little things that any of us children did that would cause him to go off. We could walk across the room in front of the t.v. to go to the bathroom and we’d be screamed at until we cried. Over time, it stopped hurting and the fear turned into anger for me. I began to get tired of the screaming and the more I lashed back, the more things began to get worse. It was as if the older we had gotten, the more we realized how wrong the things he did was, so he began to hate us one by one, and pick on us more. It wasn’t unusual to wake up in the morning and be called fat or ugly as I walked down the stairs to get to the bus. After I had begun school at middle school, things had progressed into something worse. I had made friends easily with 2 girls, Shannon and Mariah. Mariah I had known because of my aunt. She was her neighbor. Since they knew her well, I thought it’d be a good idea to hang out with her and do as she did because I had no friends and the horror stories I had heard from the high schoolers about middle school, had terrified me into being a follower rather than a leader. Through Mariah, I met Shannon. Shannon was about as short as I was, she was obsessed with being thin and pretty, and she was obsessed with boys and all of those ways to get their attention. Whereas, Mariah was Puerto Rican, she walked around pushing her chest and lips out like a duck with spinal problems. I wasn’t very fond of either of them, but they were better than nothing. Every morning was the same routine, I got up, got verbally abused, walked out of the door, lied on the bus so I would fit in, and I went to school and got made fun of and I hung around with the “mean girls”. By time I had gotten home every day, I was worn out. Along with the added sleepless nights and the abuse, I was constantly tired and I was stressed.

After a few months at school, I had begun to become close friends with Shannon. She’d told me all of her stories about how she’d been with all of these boys. We’d hung out once after school. It was her birthday, and it was a night that I’d never forget. We’d gotten off at her house from the bus. Her house was as usual as anyone’s, her brothers rooms were plastered with Pamela Anderson and her room was small. They had a basement, which I could tell wasn’t right, so I stayed upstairs. Most of that night was spent in her room. She’d not only talked me into watching bad movies, but she had also introduced me to makeup, telling me that her “crush” would be coming home with her brother and we needed to look hot. As she had told, they did come. Her brother, ugly and stalky, and his friend which she had liked, his name was Jeremiah and he was tall, and had black curly hair, and was goth. Gothic style was something I had come to know very closely, bringing me not only from God, but to worshiping the undergrounds to be “cool”. There was another boy with him, he was blonde, and to this say, I can’t remember his name. Only his eyes and the way he’d looked at me. We walked out into the kitchen where the boys where and looking at us, they sat down. Hands on her hips, Shannon waltzed over to Jeremiah, leaning over to one side to show off her low cut shirt. I was left awkwardly in the middle of the room, both her brother, and his blonde friend staring at me. Not knowing what to say, I walked out and into Shannon’s bathroom. I was happy to just be in the view of myself as I stared into the mirror. My hands felt shaky as I could hear the boys at the table talking. Shannon was telling them about me and I could hear her asking them what they had thought. The boy telling her, “Oh, yeah what’s her name? She’s hot.” I felt uncomfortable, but this is what I had wanted right? This was the goal of this night, right? I leaned back against the door. My heart was pounding and I could feel that phantom heartbeat inside of my head, which was dry as I swallowed. I could barely see through all of this makeup, but I could tell I looked like something else. This was the first time my innocent face and hair had been touched by anything materialized. “Are you okay?” I could hear Shannon asking me. She always had a laugh in her voice that let me know she was never really concerned with anything I said. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just got something in my eye. I’ll be out in a second.” I said nervously. I could hear her footsteps as she walked away. I was going to have to leave this room one way or another. I took a last deep breath and I opened the door and walked out. To my surprise the boys had already gone downstairs, which I had been thankful for. I walked around the corner and behind me, Shannon was organizing a stack of magazines beside the stairs. I remember walking to sit down and I could see smoke coming from the basement. “Oh, what? The smoke?” Shannon said with that ignorant laughing voice. “That’s just weed. You can smell it and maybe you’ll get a little bit high.” I leaned back in, I didn’t want to get high. “Ha-ha, cool. So…What’s all this?” I asked, turning the conversation. “Oh, it’s some magazines. Do you read magazines?” “Um, no, not really.” I said. I felt ignorant. We could never afford magazines, so I was never able to read them. “Oh, well here’s some Cosmo.” Shannon said, handing me a pile of magazines to read. I opened the book, there were lots of articles about fashion, makeup, and more interestingly, sex. I hadn’t really thought much about sex. They hadn’t even taught us anything about it in school, the little I did know, had come from Shannon and Mariah, and their endless stories. Turning the pages I could see half-naked men in sheets or in awkward poses with women. The little articles telling about all of the positions you could have sex in were familiar. “Hey, you want a drink?” Shannon asked, getting up, walking to the mini fridge in the corner. “Uh, yeah.” I got up and walked with her. “Here, drink this. It’s amazing.” She said, handing me a small glass bottle. It was cold in my hand as I turned the bottle to read the label; Jim beam: Watermelon flavored Vodka. I knew instantly what this was. My stepdad had drank this on a rare occasion, apart from the Natural Ice he had stuck to for so many years. “Are you sure we won’t get into trouble?” Shannon crossed her arms and with one brow raised, she said, “Are you f*****g serious? What are you, a baby?” I swallowed hard. “No, I just don’t want to get caught”. I laughed like I had done this before. She grabbed the bottle from my hand and snapped the top open. She took a drink, and half of the bottle was gone. “Here, take some.” She said, placing the bottle back into my hand. I held it there, staring at it like it was something foreign. I took it to my lips, and I drank. Immediately I began to choke and cough. It filled my nose and throat with a burning fire, causing me to gag and cough. “Ha-ha! Are you okay?” she said laughing hysterically. I confirmed with a thumbs up. Even though my insides were in flames, I took another drink, holding my nose this time. I needed to look real cool, real fast. I walked into her room and sat on the floor. Within minutes I could feel my head getting tighter. It was as if I were a spinning top on a table; my head swirling and twirling. “Do you feel that buzz?” I asked Shannon, who was sitting on the bed now. “Yeah…” she said leaning back onto her bead. I fell back a little bit. Things seemed so far away. I put my hand out in front of me and it looked so distant as I squeezed the air. My arms were tired and my body felt numb. I laid on the floor; it was itchy and smelled nasty, as my eyes began to close. My brain felt like it was melting from my skull, my ears were hot and I swallowed and took deep breaths. I was dizzy and all I could feel or see was me. After a while, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

The next morning my mom had come early. Today was Shannon’s birthday and she had come to pick me up. I was supposed to stay another for the rest of the day. I grabbed my things and acted as confused as possible, even though I was relieved to get out of that place. My head churned as I got into the car, I rarely had headaches and this one, had been by far the worst. “Why’d you come get me? I thought I was supposed to stay the night again?” I asked. “I felt like something was wrong. I felt like God told me something was wrong.” She said, turning the car wheel down the road. I rolled my eyes. “God”, yes, “God”, the man who knew everything, the man who’d created the world. Who was this “God” to me, but a made up story? I used to believe in him, but now I was Atheist. Why should I worship someone who had let so many bad things happen to me? I secretly knew God was real, but in the back of my mind I was angry at him. I was quiet the whole way home. By the time we had arrived, my mom told me to get dressed, and we were all going to take pictures together. Pictures? I hated taking pictures, especially family pictures. I rolled my eyes as I walked up the stairs. The 12^th stair always squeaked; I had to remember to skip that one when I went downstairs at night to go to the bathroom, or else Steve would wake up. My room was cold as usual, I hated that room, that house, that place. It was scary. There was always something there that I couldn’t see. No one believed me when I told them it was haunted. They didn’t believe the voices or the locks, or the footsteps. I sat down on my mattress, the springs stabbing into my legs as I sunk down. I looked around at my spooky little room. It looked just like any normal girls room; apart from the giant black canopy I had hanging over my bed. I kept that canopy there because I felt like something was watching me as I slept. It was actually a gothic wedding dress train that mom had found at a Halloween shop. I looked at my feet, my head banging from the inside out each time I blinked. How could I have drunk last night? I was only 13 now. It was almost as if it were a figment of my imagination, keeping me running wild. It was so distant in my brain and almost ungraspable. How could I have done that when I know what it does to you? I continued to ask myself questions before hearing my mother’s voice ringing in my ears to get dressed for pictures. I slipped on a tacky green, striped shirt. I looked in the mirror. It was only now that I began to doubt myself. I was so much prettier all made up. I wish my mom would let me wear what I wanted to. Shannon’s mom let her. I wasn’t allowed to wear the black makeup I wanted; I wasn’t allowed to straighten my hair. I had to wear the clothes my mother picked out for me, and mostly because I couldn’t afford to buy all of the “cool” clothes all of the other kids were wearing. In the photo session, my brother and sisters and I had all been put into embarrassing positions for photos. My cousin had also tagged along. These pictures were part of a plan that my aunt had concocted as a Christmas present for my mother. Even though she didn’t really say much about it, she had always really wanted a mothers ring. All of us were wearing some sort of dark and light natural colors. We all matched equally, which didn’t help the embarrassing factor. At this moment, I never really realized that this picture would be a constant reminder of the night before, and all of the other bad memories that had come along with my early years.

 

School began to go by, but not like the normal way it should. Shannon and I had shared lockers and we began to get strange notes thrown in after class. Shannon and I were used to notes; we passed them every class and wrote to each other all the time. Shannon was amazing with writing styles. She could write just like anyone, and even mimic handwriting. The notes were becoming an annoyance, they read vulgar things like, “You need to lose weight.” And “You’re so fat! I hope you die”. As we got onto the bus one afternoon, a few weeks after the notes had been passed to us anonymously every day, Shannon asked me something surprising. “Do you think we should turn them in?” “Who?” I asked. “You know, those people writing us notes.” “Well, I would, but maybe if we ignore them they’ll stop. I think everyone deserves a second chance, so let’s just ignore them and let it go.” She turned towards the window smiling. God, that smile was so irritating. I didn’t like her smile, no matter how over joyed she was, she always seemed evil when she smiled. The rest of the bus ride was normal. I sat there and Shannon got off early, and I got made fun of by the other kids in the neighborhood for being “white”. I got off the bus and walked past the dogs on home. I went past the dogs every day because I knew if I took the short cut; the older kids would throw rocks at me and scream at me. A few weeks had continued to go by with more notes, along with notes from Shannon telling me about how we needed to lose weight. Lose weight? I was only 122 pounds. I thought I was thin enough already?  The more Shannon told me I was fat, the more I felt the need to starve myself to lose weight. The notes in our locker had even contained little sentences telling us on how we should “race to see who goes anorexic first”. It was humiliating to look into the mirror now. At night my stomach would hurt because I hadn’t eaten in a few days. Soon the “few” days turned into 4 and 5 days, and my ribs had started to show. Even though I had been losing a large amount of my body weight, all I saw was fat. I could count the vertebrae in my spine on my back now at a small, 93 pounds. I began to cry each day. I didn’t say anything, but I knew Shannon had probably been throwing up to become thin, and I didn’t let it show, but on the inside, I was crumbling. Like a tower falling brick by boring brick, my insides were crumbling to the ground. I had to let it go and move on. School still didn’t help, and the more I tried to ignore it, the more Shannon and her friends had begun to laugh at my expense, but these were my only friends, so I kept them. I still followed them around each day, and Mariah wasn’t as close to me as she used to be, but I still conversed with her from time to time.

A few months had gone by with the torment of my home life, and the eating and the emotional and verbal abuse, but things had also gotten bad with the notes in our locker. One day, after getting tired of everything going on, I had had enough. We received a letter in our locker that threatened to blow up our bus. I became scared as much as I was annoyed. I knew immediately action had to be taken. That day, I said nothing to Shannon. I went home, and I sat down on my mother’s bed. “Mom, I have something to tell you.” I said, looking at her as she turned the page in her book. “What, honey?” “Shannon and I have been getting notes in our locker, bad notes.” “What do you mean?” Mom had that alert in her voice as she sat up like a pointer dog whom had had its attention caught. “Well, someone keeps putting notes in our locker and they keep making fun of us, and today we got one that said they’d blow up our bus.” I handed mom the pile of notes I’d been keeping. I had saved them all because I knew that I might need them. “What?” She said, as she took the notes and began to skim through them. “I’m calling the school!” “No mom! Don’t! You’re going to make things worse! Please don’t!” “Olivia, you have to tell the principal about this! I’ll tell you what, I want you to go to the office in the morning, I’ll call and ask them if you went in. I’ll give you the chance to turn them in by yourself.” I agreed. After all, this was better than her turning the person in. We began to review all of the notes in order. “Olivia, this is Shannon.” I looked at her stunned. All of a sudden this all began to make sense. How could I have been so damned blind? It was in front of me this entire time! Now I was angrier than ever. I sat up, I pressed down hard onto the mattress with my hands. She was supposed to be my friend. She knew better than this, but in a sense, I felt that I had almost deserved this. I was ignorant and blind to her tactics. I felt ashamed that I had been so oblivious to her mockery and non-sense. “Fine. I’ll turn her in first thing in the morning.” I said angrily, as I walked out of the room.

 

The next morning I remained seated in the auditorium like usual. Shannon came and sat down, and I told her that I would be turning in the notes. “What? No! You can’t! Olivia what the hell are you doing?” she said. I could tell how afraid she was by the trembling of her voice. “I’ve already told mom, she’ll be calling the school either way!” I snapped back. I didn’t let her know that I was aware that it was her. Although oblivious to the general situation, I was enjoying being one step ahead of her. This was also something that I had come to value in my life. I enjoyed knowing more than someone, especially when they had done me wrong. The rest of the morning she sat there complaining and asking me what I had done. I knew exactly what I had done, after all that she had put me through, I was enjoying this. I deserved this moment. After dismissal I left the auditorium and met with the principal. I gave Mrs. Pirtle the notes. She was an ideal woman, prettier than most her age, blonde, and “preppy” in style. She was wealthy because we had all heard the stories about how enjoyable her house was with its pool and indoor theater. She didn’t say much, but I told her the events, besides the eating disorder I had developed, but I’m sure it wasn’t hard to miss by looking at me. I walked out smiling as I went on to class. Later that day, word had spread and things were getting heated, I was called to the office. I walked in to see Shannon and her mother in front of Mrs. Pirtle’s desk. “Ms. Thompson, have a seat.” She said sternly, pointing to the chair beside Shannon. “We’re taking this very seriously and I’ve talked to Shannon and her mother and we have reason to think that this “note writer” is you.” What? How could they possibly think it was me? I was the one who had turned them in! I was the one who had contacted my mother and let her read the notes! The principal passed me the notes. Each one was an exact copy of the ones that I had at home. Except this time, they looked different. The more I looked the more familiar they became. I couldn’t quite figure it out, until Shannon piped up. “Well… it does look like your handwriting, Olivia.” That’s when it hit me; these notes had been written in a copy of my handwriting. Shannon had been smart, not only in her mockery, but also she had even stepped ahead of me. She had framed me. “No! These aren’t mine! I swear!” I said as my voice began to break. Then Mrs. Pirtle began to raise her voice and tell me that I would go to jail if they could prove it was me and that they knew I had done it. I sat there, mouth open and a blank stare as her words went through me like water; in one ear, and out the other. “We can’t contact your mother because we see that you don’t have a phone, but we’ll make sure that we do call all of your friends to the office and see what they think.” Mrs. Pirtle’s beautiful face had turned into something maniacal with a disgusting smirk across her mouth. It was as if she had been enjoying this, along with Shannon looking in the corner, grinning from ear to ear. She was right; my mom didn’t have a phone. We had always had to use the neighbor’s phone in an emergency. I knew immediately that I couldn’t have my mom here to defend me. I was all alone. Throughout the day I sat in the office, watching each of my friends go into the principal’s office. I was nervous. I didn’t want to go to jail, I hadn’t done anything wrong! After about an hour or two, I was called back in. Hand trembling I closed the door of doom behind me. To my horror there was a police officer sitting at the table with a stack of papers in his hands. Shannon and her mother sat there and the police man handed me the papers. He began to read me my rights. I was terrified, I knew that after my stepdad had gotten locked up so many times, there was only one reason they’d read you your rights: if you were going to jail. After he read me my rights, he pointed to the worded sheet in front of me. “I need you to sign this young lady.” I look down to see Shannon’s signature already on the paper. I read through it, though my mind didn’t process what the words were saying. I signed it because I wanted to cooperate as much as possible. As soon as I signed I began to be interrogated. Right there in the principal’s office; the cop leaned back and watched as Mrs. Pirtle was in a yelling fit. “You’re a tough cookie, but I’ll get you to crack!” She yelled. I began to laugh. She really just said that to me? What was wrong with this lady? Was she serious? I heard the door open, it was my mom! She was here finally! I was never so happy to see her in my life. During the next 30 minutes, a lot of yelling went on, and my mother told Mrs. Pirtle she need to “shut her mouth” and asked her how she thought that it was legal and appropriate to make a minor sign a waiver to the police without an adult. I was so happy; I knew immediately the little sheet couldn’t be sued against me, whatever it had said… “Well then, you need to go on back to class Olivia.” Mrs. Pirtle directed me. Just as I was about to speak, my mother spoke first. “My daughter won’t be going ANYWHERE!” she yelled. I felt overjoyed inside. “Well we think it’s in her best interest” “No!” My mother cut her off. “I’m her mother, and I’ll tell YOU what’s in her best interest. She’ll be coming home with me!” My mother grabbed her purse and made me walk her to my locker. She tore out all of my things, my journals, my books, my notes. I was stunned. I knew I would be in trouble when she read all of my things and saw all of my drawings. I had been writing notes and drawing depressing pictures for quite some time now. It was really the only way to get my feelings out besides fighting or telling anyone. Mom took me home, and as I had thought, I was scolded and she had even gone through my room. I sat there helpless as she went through all of my things, yelling at me when she found that I had left God. She was infuriatedly crying as she ripped through the drawers and the journals. She grabbed them all and took them down the stairs and for the rest of the evening, I was downstairs.

The next day, I was shunned. I had to move lockers and I kicked Shannon out of ours. I refused to let her take that from me. Good old Mariah was put as my new locker partner. But that only lasted for a short while. As they all began to hate me, Mariah left my locker as well, leaving trash behind for me to clean up. I began to walk through the hallways every day and girls were searching for me. They were going to beat me up and I knew it. I stayed low as I continued to hear about how Mariah and Shannon and all of my “so called” friends had made fake notes up in my handwriting, and posted them in the bathroom. From what I had been told, they were notes making fun of other girls. Girls I didn’t even know. I had even found out that they had been telling guys I liked them when I didn’t even know who they were. The school torture began to get so bad, I was coming home and cutting myself. I had instigated suicide with myself so many times! My arms were hidden under my sweater.

Not too long after the torture began, something bad had happened to me that was far worse that I had thought things could even get. One late night in December, my cousins had all decided to stay the night at my house. I’m not sure why, but they all stayed downstairs, while I and my cousin (who I will not name) slept upstairs in the bunk beds. This boy was more of a slob, a fat and ugly slob, with bad breath and a cruel sense of humor. I had hung out with him from time to time now, but we were very close during our younger years. The distance between us had happened because of another incident that had taken place. After the lights had been turned down, it had become late. I couldn’t sleep and neither could he. I climbed down the bed and I sat on the lower bunk where he was sleeping. I decided to pop in a movie since we were both awake. It was Pokémon, although it was cartoons, it was something to watch. All of a sudden, things became quiet as we were sitting there, and he inched closer to me. I felt uncomfortable so I scooted a little farther from him. That didn’t stop him from scooting closer. My heart began to beat fast as he put his hand on my shoulder. I wasn’t excited about him touching me. “What are you doing?” I asked with my voice cracking. “Look, you’re going to shut up and lay down and let me do all the work.” He said demandingly and pushed me on the mattress. I rose up quickly and told him, “Dude! Get off of me! What the hell is wrong with you? We’re cousins! Get away from me before I go tell!” “You’re not going to tell anyone, because if you do, I’ll tell them you’re lying. So just shut up, you idiot!” He pushed me down once more. My mind was on fire as I laid there, my shirt being raised up to my neck, I shook. “Please, don’t do this. I won’t tell if you don’t.” “You’re not going to tell anyways!” His hands slid down my chest. They were hot on my cold skin. I became silent and I looked at the bars above my face. The bars from the top bunk bed I should have just stayed in. My pants were pulled don, as were my underwear. I could feel the violent scratching of teeth against my most private parts. How could he do this to me? I thought we were cousins? I thought in my mind of a better place and I tried to close my eyes but I couldn’t. My cousins were all down stairs, all of them boys; my step brother and the other two. I could yell for help, I could scream right now! I can! I can scream! I opened my mouth to scream for help, but nothing came out. My body was frozen and I was shaking. I felt like I was frozen in a block of ice, I was sitting her enduring this, and there was nothing I could do about. I sat silently. My hands were forced to touch the most inappropriate places on his body as I turned my head towards the wall and I silently cried. After a short time, my mind went blank and I relaxed, and before I knew it, it was over. It felt like the event had taken hours, although I knew it was a short time. Wiping his mouth, my cousin stood up. “If you tell, I’ll kill you!” he said, as he walked away. The next few days had made me sick, I had felt so ill and no matter how many showers I had taken, nothing could wash off the filth of his mouth and hands. I wanted to hide in a hole. They say crying makes you feel better, but in this case, I had cried and cried. Nothing helped. Even if I had shed enough tears to flood an entire room, it wouldn’t help. I wish I could cry that many tears. I wish I could make an ocean and get in a small boat and row away from my troubles like Alice did in Wonderland. I had to accept this.

The next few years were spent with me seeing many demons, realistically and spiritually. I had seen more than I had bargained for in that house. I had seen my first paranormal entity outside of my window that year, and I could no longer sleep. I went to school, and I got tortured daily. I kept quiet and I never spoke to my cousin again. I felt like I had done something wrong. I had felt like this was my entire fault. I could have stopped it from happening. I could have screamed and saved myself. This was my fault; I SHOULD have to live with this for not screaming. The negative events had brought spirits into my house through bad energy, and I could no longer sleep. I was obsessed with the voices and the shadows and the things watching me in my sleep. I stayed awake all night, and I slept during the day. There were times I’d cry until I was so tired, I fell asleep. Those were the only night I had slept in my room with the haunting thoughts and spirits. After a while, I could no longer sleep during the day either. I became tired and I wouldn’t sleep for days. The more I stayed inside, the more I gained weight. After not eating for so long, any food I began to take it turned to fat as my body’s natural response to keep itself from starvation. I was so strung out I began to hallucinate and I began to cut myself more, along with bed wetting. I was humiliated inside and out. I was 14 and I was wetting my bed and crying like a fool. Why can’t I help myself? Why can’t I tell anyone? Mom had signed me into therapy also. That didn’t help either. The medicine made it worse and the more I thought, the more I wanted to just end it. That’s it. I’d just end it all.

One Sunday afternoon, I had woken up in my room. I had spent the day sleeping with the monsters. I was tired as I put on my long, worn out bunny t-shirt. Mom had given it to me because she had worn it when she was younger. I loved that shirt; I always liked how cool it felt to my skin when I slid it on. It was one of the only things that I felt held me. A simple t-shirt. It could hold a crying child in more ways than one. I walked downstairs to the kitchen. I got out a pen and some paper, and I began to write. I wrote a list of all of my possessions, and I gave them to random people. The only people I could think of. After all, I wouldn’t be able to take these into the afterlife with me. What afterlife, though? I believed in no God. What merciful God would let this happen to me? Screw God. I began to cry as I continued to scribble the words onto the tear-stained sheet. I was finished. I spent the next 5 minutes simply folding the paper. I folded it many times over, thinking of what my family would say when I was gone. They’d probably be thankful. I’m nothing but a loser who causes problems anyways.

I got up and went up the stairs to grab a belt. I skipped the 12^th stair of course, as I came and went. Going back into the kitchen I grabbed a chair. I began to drag it slowly down the stairs; each stair clanking as the wooden chair hit it. I walked into the basement. I was always scared of the basement. I set the chair up and stood on top of it, wrapping the belt around the balance beam above me. I stood tall for the first time in two years. I wrapped the cold brown leather around my throat. It was so rough against my skin. I stood on the chair and looked down. “Only one step. One step, Olivia. That’s all you need and it won’t hurt anymore.” I told myself. I began to cry. I couldn’t believe how it had come to this. I was 14, I was supposed to be out bike riding and having slumber parties. I was supposed to be smiling and talking to boys. Tears rolled down my cheek as I took a deep breath. My eyes closed as I heard my mom’s van roll into the drive way, each rock crunching under the weight of our old maroon van. Mom had gone grocery shopping and was already back. All of a sudden, I stopped. What was I doing? What was I thinking? I imagined my brother and sisters faces as if they had already seen me dangling from the ceiling. I imagined the creams my mother would let out as she saw her oldest daughter strangled by a belt. I couldn’t do this. I knew instantly that this was wrong. I can turn this around. I can dare to dream. I can be myself and I can MAKE IT! I yanked the belt from my throat and threw the chair over. I ran up the stairs into my room and I slung my mattress off. I opened my drawers and threw them across the room. I took all of the razors and scissors; I took all of the notes and drawings. I was better than this. I would change today! Right now! I threw all of it away. A weight had been instantly lifted off of my chest. I was free!
I was finally free from all of this. I knew I could break the chains and save myself. There was a God, he’d shown me more than I had realized. I was smiling as I took away all of my pains in the forms of simple paper sheets. After cleaning up, I lay down, and for the first time in three years, I went to sleep. I had fallen asleep and I had actually SLEPT. I woke up a little while later, and I sat up in my bed. I smiled as I stepped on the floor, out of the door, and into my new life.

 

Though this is just a small part of my life, it is an impacting and amazing part of my life. After all of this, I had told my mother about my cousin, and I had an inner peace. My stepdad had passed on, and although this had broken me down, I was thankful in a way that I no longer had to endure the violence. My mother and therapist signed me out of school, where I spent half of my 7^th grade year being homeschooled and learning to relax again. I found God in a small country church, and I got baptized in Jesus’s name. I learned to be a human once more, and although I never got the opportunity to enjoy a normal childhood, I learned the most valuable lessons in my life. And from this point on in my life, no matter what I go through I know that I will always get back up, and I will dust myself off. I am an amazing, beautiful young woman and I have a heart of gold. No one can stop me from my dreams. I refuse to back down. I refuse to be broken again. The things I regret and the trials I endure now, I remind myself that I will surpass them all. I will use my experience to inspire others, and I remind myself, what I go through now, will be but another story I tell.

 

-Olivia Anne Thompson

 

Author's Note

Please PLEASE take the time to read this.

Reviews

[Caitlyn Murray]

This made me cry! Alot! This was amazing. I'm glad you didn't kill yourself that day.

[idk]

Oh my god. You poor thing! No one shjould have to go thru the things you did but at least you kinda saw a lesson in it. At first I saw how long i was and I thought "I'm not reading this". But I started to, and I'm so glad I did. I almost cried so many times, thinking what if I had gone thru this, I would have stepped off that chair and ended it all. But you didn't and I respect you so much for it. You are a stong strong girl and I love that. This was a great read and I am so happy you shared this. I feel like I should say thanks for putting this up because it feels like it's changed me so thank you!

[SOUL LESS]

Wow...firstly accept my felicitations. That was brave work :) Till about half way, I was like "this is routine stuff". You went through a lot. It's because of people like Shannon that I am more interested in someone's disgusting, spiteful side than the good one. I hate being deceived....and crying does help. Believe me, I know.
And atheists are stupid. I cannot imagine not believing in a God. I have written a blog on this if you ever care to read it.
I admire strength of character in others for I was not given it.
And I don't really believe in paranormals...lol. I can philosophize and imagine but with painful practicality :)

Good Work! And...yeah it is somewhat inspiring...

[Ronn Michael Salinas]

did you throw the cousin in jail? and good luck

[Zeek4]

What an inspiring story and a testament to the strength of the human spirit. It made me very angry at times how you were treated and I wanted to kick your stepfather down the stairs and out of your house. Being the tender age of 18 I strongly suggest that you continue with therapy. I'm so sorry you missed out on a "normal" childhood. I''m sure your aware that you are not alone and many young kids have lived through similar experiences, the end result being tragic and heartbreaking. You should be very proud of yourself young lady for having the strength to endure such a situation and to have survived it.

[Bridgette's Ink]

This is so sad, you are such a strong girl. You should be so proud, this was a great read.