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Emariana // Alyce // Robbxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxnow starring as the Abused Daughter
Tell me baby, what's your story? Where do you come from, and where you wanna go this time, oh?
τнє ƒαcτs
jυsτ вєcαυsє ı'м sixteen, đσєsи'τ мєαи τhατ ı'м иσt σℓđ єиσυgн τo вє đσıиg τhє sτυƒƒ ı'vє вєєn đσing. đσи'τ đıscяıмıиατє αgαıиsτ α bisexual chick, τнατ's яєαℓℓy яυđє. ρєσρlє sρяєαđ яυмσυяs αвoυτ mє вєıиg the Abused Daughter, sσ đoи'τ gєτ aиy ıdєαs. σн, αиd ρℓєαsє cαℓℓ мє Em or Reese. gıvє мє soмєτнıиg иıcє oи April Nineteenth, ρℓєαsє. đσи't cαℓℓ мє αиσєxıc, ı wєıgн ıи ατ one hundred pounds. you мıgнτ мıss мє, ı'м oиly fine foot four, so bє σи τнє wατcн fσя α brunette with brown eyes.
•xxx•xxx• " so, this is your first time being rumoured about? " Well, yeah. My parents.... hit me. Every once in a whileA lot. It kinda sucks. Well, no, it really sucks, but it's not completely their fault. Both of my parents were hit as a child, my mother was hit whenever she didn't do something exactly right. My father was hit whenever his parent's felt like it. He turned to alcohol, she figured it was normal. When they were both teens, they met and 'fell in love'. Deciding to have sex one night, they then became stuck with me. Well, darling father never gave up the alcohol, and my dear sweet mother never gave up the strictness she grew up with.
I first remember being hit when I was around three. I was playing outside after school, totally engrossed in watching people and cars and bugs and birds go by, when all of a sudden, I was called into the house. I didn't feel like going, but then I was called again. I took my time going inside, which made my mother mad. She slapped me hard across the face, which nearly blew me into the wall. My father, already drunk for so early in the day, decided that, if I was bad enough for my mother to hit me, I was most certainly bad enough to deserve more. I remember not being able to see things straight for a few days.
Every once in a while, the beatings would stop. My parents would find jobs they liked, which would keep them busy, then tired out enough to not want to hit me. But for every day there wasn't a beating, there seemed to be two or three with beatings. Once, it got so bad that I was in the hospital. I don't really remember what lead up to awaking in the emergency room, but I'm pretty sure I hadn't fallen out of a tree. I never climb trees near my house. There aren't any to climb.
Anyway, I've been living with these people all my life, and I've learned to try to live with it. No, it's not easy. I'm not used to it, I hate it, it sucks, and I wish I'd been born to ANYONE but them. But there's nothing else I can do, besides tell on them, and I don't want them to kill me, or find out what I'm going to do and lock me up. So for now, I just have to do whatever it is to survive, like lock my door when my father gets drunk, pick up the house after one of them ruins it, use work money for food. I can not wait until I'm old enough to escape this hell hole that I call home.
" how would you describe yourself? " Well, I'm pretty much that one girl that you see staring out a window in class, laughing with friends at lunch, walking home all by herself. I'm sort of a chameleon- I change myself according to my surroundings. When I'm alone, I'm very quiet, sort of sarcastic with myself, because then I'm allowed to fully be myself. I'm able to show my emotions only when alone- which is kind of sad, when you think about it. But since my life is on the hectic side, bursting into tears when I'm sad is something I couldn't do, if I were to be with my parents or school mates.
When I AM with friends at school, I'm wearing this sort of smiley faced mask. When there's a joke, I laugh. When there's a story, I listen with interest smeared on my face. I try to act as normal as possible, so that no one can figure out what's wrong. I'm the quiet one in the group, I guess, but I still make myself participate, try to be the same as them, but just a little bit different, too, for good measure. It just wouldn't do for everyone to see what's happening behind my eyes.
Which brings me to home life. When I'm around my parents, I have no emotion at all. No joy, no empathy, no anger, frustration, doubt, sadness, hurt- it's all blank. Doesn't exsist. I do what I'm told when I'm told, I eat what they give me, go where they tell me to go. I become this blank wall of a child, a passive gray rug that gets stepped on every day. I've trained myself not to show pain when I'm hit, or anger when they yell at me for their own problems. I duck my head and say sorry, then retreat into my room, or do a chore. Whatever I think would make my parents happiest at the time.
•xxx•xxx•
" what kind of things do you like and dislike? "
What do I like? I like silence, the absence of noise. It's beautiful, and seldom heard in my home. I also like horses- my class once went on a feild trip to a stables, and I got to feed on of the horses there. It was the most exciting thing I'd ever had happen to me. I like the colors pink and black- they just seem to go together like peanutbutter and jam, which is my favorite food.
Well, now, there are tons of things I dislike. My parents for one, and I doubt you'll need much of an explaination on that. Another thing I dislike is alcohol- the smell, the taste, the effects, everything. It grosses me out on so many levels. I hate noise, and get head aches a lot because of noise and bright lights. I don't really like talking on the telephone, and texting has started to annoy me, what with recent gossipping.
Then there are things I'm afraid of. I'm actually quite terrified of dogs, and I can't stand worms. I had to eat a worm once, and it made me sick. Then, I'm also afraid of driving really fast, and speaking in front of people is only a part of my nightmares, not my daily life. Clowns can creep me out, and just the whole circus deal turns me off. I never understood the need for stupid things like that. And then, I know it's sort of horrible to admit, but I get really uncomfortable around people with severe learning or mobility disabilities. I guess it's because of the many altered states my father goes into, and the fact that, if beaten a little harder, I could have all sorts of disabilities. Or I could be dead.
•xxx•xxx•
" Um..... I wasn't staring out the window... I was...... asleep...... NO WAIT! "
Figmented Imagination
 Figmented Imagination · Tue Aug 19, 2008 @ 05:13am · 0 Comments |
