I could give you a story that’s basically cliché’; with a fairytale ending.

BUT.

Let’s be real here for a moment.

Although I have many happy moments in my life, I also have many unhappy moments. Life growing up wasn’t easy, and I have struggled through and through to mask the truth behind my anxiety.

There are many little details and behaviors that I see now, that I didn’t see before that reveal the truths of my own mind. I was abused psychologically, and the wear and tear on my emotions started to trickle down and falter greatly.

This challenge, called life, it’s incredible.

I cant tell you how many times I locked myself in my room as a kid because of my parents fucked up relationship, it was…how do you say this? Shattered. I would constantly lock my door with the only chair in my room, up against the cold door knob. I prayed with my eyes shut and my hands covering my ears, hoping that every falter would somehow go away. Slowly but surely my tears would force themselves out one by one.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I was so scared shitless that what my mother did to my father, she would also do to me. He never once laid a finger on me. I know he could sense the fear beaming off of me every time she let loose. For some reason that always keep him at bay. She was so verbally abusive to me and father it was exhausting.

All I could think of was, what bullshit is she spouting now? Shit. I always questioned what came out of her mouth. It wasn’t always bad, but she would sometimes be nice, but I only knew it to be lies. I question was it even sincere? I was scared, I never tried to figure out how to play the game she thought she had moves on. She made life so reckless because she couldn’t get her own shit together. So it mentally broke down my father worse than it would ever do me.

He lost his job.

He fell apart emotionally.

He failed.

And I pitied him.

Mother on the other hand was also a straight up addictive drunk. I could smell alcohol on her even from a mile away. Who knows why she found addictive substances so amusing. She just really seemed to enjoy wasting life away one sip at a time. She was suppose to be the successful one. She had a college degree, good stable job, and made money, but why was she so ridiculous?

Something happened to her stability when I was 11, everything started slowly spiraling downward. She started coming home more obliterated than the last instigating fights with father. It was almost as if she got pleasure out of fighting with him for her own amusement. It was sickening and it made my stomach turn every time I saw it happen.

Both my mother and father abused themselves. They would punch, slap, kick, you name it and they probably did it.They made sure someone was bleeding, screaming, or crying. It was so fucking disturbing, so when I locked myself up I made so sure I couldn’t hear anything.They never paid much attention to me, being that I’m an only child. I got the luxury of being alone most of the time. The only times they ever talked to me were when I needed something for school or to verbally abuse me.

I always felt that I was some kind of mistake. Easy to feel this way when your parents give no fucks. I always felt in the wrong and was always told I was wrong. Mother told me I was stupid repetitively and always had to make sure to mention that I’m always just going to be a naïve little girl.

It wore down my self confidence. I wasn’t much of an outgoing person but rather shy and quiet. I was never taught to be strong or to stand up for myself. I always felt so out of place. I guess these are the perks of life slapping you in the face saying, “Guess what? You suck.”

Now of course life won’t always weigh me down making me feel worthless. I know that. I always have some glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve always felt if there was a way out of this fucked up situation, I would find it. I had to have some type of optimism or else I might actually die from the anxiety. I always felt like I was on the edge waiting to fall off.

I was so scared of the words that could seep out of someone’s mouth. I felt no matter the cause the words people said to me would send jolts of electricity down my spine making my anxiety arise. I was so timid that I barely talked much and I really only had one friend if you even call it that. All through middle school up until the end of High school I made it a rule to keep to myself and just bare through it. Once that was over with I would leave and find a way to start over.

At least that was my plan.

The last two years of high school had been the worst. My mother actually abused me through her drunken escapades. She would slap and punch me when father wasn’t around, but enough to leave bruises and cuts all over.

Because of this I tried to avoid her as much as possible.

I got good grades.

Never missed a day of school.

Stayed out of trouble.

But..

Mother went off the deep end and I found her doing cocaine and a variety of mixed pills for fun. She used my father for his medical prescriptions to feed her growing addiction. It repulsed me so much I could feel the anxiety pulsing through my veins. It was the most uncomfortable feeling, and I would get so anxious I couldn’t control myself. I never knew what was going to happen next, and that alone, is scary as fuck.

I felt trapped.

Every time a panic attack flared up I locked myself in my room and stated getting tunnel vision. Eventually it was too much for my body and I would blackout. I once hit my head on my bedside table and mother found me an hour later by hurtfully slapping me awake. She always assumed I was on drugs because I never said anything and I seemed to always be in a daze.

To me being in a daze was normality.

“Naïve little girl..” She would always say and violently hit me.

I refuse to reply to her and she would continuously slap and punch me until I bruised blue. Maybe I deserved the beatings, and maybe I didn’t. If by keeping my mouth shut only got me a small beating then I would take that over a beating out of hell itself, for back-sassing this devil-bitch.