Shedding the Hurt
I look like a clone of my mother. I even have two fingers on my right hand that are hers. My freedom came on the day I got angry about the abuse that lasted until the day my mother died. She was a coward and left me with questions still. I sometimes think she hated me because maybe I'm my grandfather’s daughter. My grandfather was a child molester so maybe he is my father, and that's why she hated me.
My abuse started at 4 years of age. I was raped by an old man whom my mother was warned in my presence to keep her children away from. We shared a backyard fence which had a door. He took me from the yard. I was not looked for nor missed. I must have looked a sight when I landed back in my own yard; but, nothing. The whole event is mine alone to bear. That was my first memory or was it the time I drank lye as a toddler. Anyway, I've only got so many tears.
I cry sometimes, but the truth really is, I'm already behind in joy because I was somewhere crying over %^&* I had no control over. I came out of it the very way I prayed, which was to not be crazy, and I'm not. I went through it, believe me. I'd rather write about how I'm shedding the hurt like fish scales. I can't get back the years I lost being paranoid, tearful, scared, ashamed to be me and the whole lot of that crap, so I'm working on the chapter of me. I love me really. I love my thoughts about the world and how I'm beautiful without the hocus pocus. I like that my mother hasn't colored my view of the world so in short....I won!
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