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Inner Secrets



    Inner Secrets

    -by Mercury Rising


    Where to even begin? I am having trouble with my mental stability lately, and I keep almost spilling out my innermost secrets, thoughts, and feelings to people. Big fucking mistake. I should know by now that no one truly wants to hear how fucked up I am or anything I’ve gone through, and it’s just plain embarrassing to tell them. But I need to get it out, and I figure that I am one of the best people to talk to about it. 


    Why am I like this? I have abandonment, body, and self-worth issues, and I can’t quite pick up where they came from. Sometimes at night, though, I find myself lying awake and I randomly, fucking suddenly, have demons clawing at my mind. The funny thing is, I’m discovering lately that I have been blocking out a lot of memories from when I was younger. But I sure as hell haven’t forgotten them. I guess I just push them to a corner of my mind that I don’t like to venture into very often. The dark, desolate part of my mind that will always be that little girl that was scared and left alone to deal with shit herself. So what was the first breaking point? What is the first memory I keep blocking out?


    The First Scar:

    I completely, almost forgot about Joshua F. until recently. I don’t think anyone knows about him. I was 6, and he was 12. 

    I didn’t realize why he insisted me, and only me ( not my sister) come up and play in his room. Of course I didn’t understand, I was a fucking child. But sure enough, something about me and my aura came off to this little pervert that I was an easy target. 

    And I was. I went upstairs with him, oblivious. I remember being confused, sitting on top of his lap, as he tried to get me to take my dress off.

     I didn’t understand. I remember thinking, “why would I take my dress off? How is this part of the game?”

     I was so clueless I cry thinking about it. I didn’t realize the fact that he was only in his underwear was a very bad thing. I think he was about to take my dress off when, luckily, my mother showed up. Unconcerned, I got up and went downstairs. 

    Didn’t realize it was wrong until I casually mentioned this incident much later in front of both our parents.

     I also didn’t realize until much later that I never went back after that. Thank god. I never realized until I was older what was about to happen.


    So, wow, first almost-molestation story out of the way. Yay. I think I was ok for the next couple years. 


    The Turning Point:

    Then of course, mom started dating Ben C, the young as 18 year old boy. Decided he was more important than anything else in her life at the moment. Of course that included her children. For the first 2 years, I still strived to be a momma’s girl, and always tried to get her to stay with me, because I was so lonely. Too bad she didn’t feel the same. Too bad I didn’t realize how lost she was until I was 10. 

    Ah, my 10th birthday, the year I officially told my mom I no longer wanted to celebrate my birthday, because what was the point? Why was I such a dramatic fucking kid, you ask? Well, let me start off by saying that, at this point in my life, my mother was my idol. And she claimed to NEVER make promises, unless she 100% intended to keep them. SO, my double-digits are finally rolling around, and I missed my mom so much, and I was so fucking pathetic, and ALL I wanted was to spend some time with her.


    All I asked–the only thing I wanted–was to  have dinner with her.


     I wanted to go to Banner, just me and her, and spend time with her. Real selfish of me I found out. So…. my big day finally comes, and I am so excited. I wake up, and I’m waiting for my mom to show up at our house. 


    I wait….and wait….and wait.


    I call her over…and over…and over again. 


    I’m worried that something has happened, yet in the back of my mind, I know nothing dire has. 


    Finally, around  9 pm, she shows up, looking sad and defeated. So…what happened? What was so important that she never showed to simply take me to dinner?…


    She had a fight with her boyfriend. A fight that apparently lasted all day…and was more important than her youngest daughter’s birthday. After she finally showed up, she took me out to eat. 


    On the way, I told her I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday anymore. Dramatic at the time, yes. But I never changed my mind since that day. I stopped celebrating. I realized the importance of it.


    This was it. This was the turning point in my life. The point where I stopped being the loving little girl I was, and turned into the neglected, unwanted child who developed self-esteem and abandonment  issues. This is the point where I first started to feel, or realize, that I was not important to the people who I cared about most.

     If I were to disappear, I feared it would be an insignificant blip.


    All of these emotions led to drinking, drugs, and anything to stop the feelings coursing through me. I’ve never meant anything to anyone, so why try?

    Unfortunately, at 25, I am still not over these issues. And people, even today, still show me that I don’t mean shit. No matter how hard I work, and try to cater to others and their feelings and make them happy, everyone just looks over me. 


    I’m a pet or piece of furniture. 


     I’ll always be there, waiting, unworthy of anything more. They forget I’m human. 


    That I’m broken inside…that I have been for years and years… and no one has ever tried to help me mend. All they do is take more and more pieces of me, until I feel like there isn’t enough left to go on.  I don’t want to die, but sometimes I secretly wish something would happen to me so that everyone else could just go on without me. I would never commit suicide, yet in a deep, dark part of my soul I wish something would happen to end me. What if it were better for everyone?



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