Post by Kayla Richards on Jun 14, 2017 22:04:10 GMT -5
Awakening
Daddy’s Falling Angel
When I look back at the path I’ve walked it’s easy to assume that any of the speedbumps, potholes and divots could've caused a crash. It would be even easier to assume that the things I’ve done and the instances of anger have been those bumps and holes. The people I’ve hurt, the people I’ve turned my back on. It’s all been because of that path I was forced down right?. Assumptions are rarely true. Mainly because you rarely get all the facts when making those assumptions.
But if it were true and I could pinpoint the exact moment my little feet ran into their first speed bump on my path. The first real speed bump that forces you to re-evaluate life and what it means. It would have been the first moment my innocence was taken. It all begins with the idea of first times. A first time is always important isn’t it?. Most big moments in your life you can narrow down to being a first. Your first time riding a bike, driving a car, your first kiss, the first time you try your favourite food, the first time you feel someone’s nose break under your closed fist or the first time you hyper extend an elbow and hear the ligaments snap….
Sorry, those last two were probably just applicable to people like me and Coda….
But my point still stands. First times make up for so many of our experiences. They leave lasting marks on us. So many of them turn into scars. “Every scar will build my throne” a great line from a great song. I have enough scars to build a throne room as well as the throne itself. Most people who have a bad first experience will ignore it and move on, later it might even become a funny story to tell their friends and family later on.
But to me, the first times I had, ones that were supposed to be important for a young woman in her growth and development, they were the stuff made of nightmares. They had been taken and corrupt, left in a crying mess on the bathroom floor. Things that should of been born from innocent exploration or a feeling of love are black and bruised. Bleeding and dying. I remember the night it happened. I remember the feeling, I remember everything and the more it happened, the less I felt.
People who have known, friends and family, even my ex wife all asked me. Aren’t you angry?. Or upset?. There was a time I was angry, a time I was hurt and upset. But now I just wish I could feel that again. Because now when I look back on those experiences. Those first times. It’s no longer a source of anger and pain. I no longer cry and feel sorry for myself. No those feelings are long since dead and buried. Hidden under six feet of dirt.
In many ways I died that night. That first experience is what led to a fork in the road, and I walked down a path that would forever change me. I started to shut down my emotions one by one until I was reborn a different person. The sweet little girl who laughed and smiled and couldn’t understand or comprehend the darkness around her was now overtaken by it and born from it. Truth is maybe I should thank my father for what he did. In hurting me for his own sick twisted amusement he made sure no one could really hurt me ever again. I mean really…
Who can hurt a monster?....
Pull these scars off my eyes
Lost from the world
A child searching for her dad
You left me there alone
With him to rape my world
And I lived through the years, a girl
Pleading why
Norwich England
16 years ago
“Nothing Happened….”
I was alone with him. The first time in a long time my daddy and I were in the house. Just us. It was the middle of the day, he had been in a good mood. The last few weeks had been different. He and mother seemed to get along. Jackson had been doing nwell in school causing our father to have a rush of pride in his only son. Amber had kept to herself as usual but she had been helping him. Dadd and our mother even got along better.
But then it happened. Tasmin got sick. A bad cough and mother had to take her to a specialist in London. Amber went with her to help and Jackson was away at a football camp. It just left us alone in the house. At first I enjoyed it. Having my father to myself. Being able to tell him about my day at school. But here we were a day off. I didn’t understand why. He woke me up in the morning with a smile. Told me he wanted to give me a day at home because I had been so good. It had been like a dream…
I had always felt invisible. Whenever he would start to notice me, talk to me give me any type of fatherly love and affection Amber was there. She would swoop in and steal it all away. I grew to hate her for it. Jackson was the first born son, he had expectations and had greatness pushed on him, Amber was the first daughter craving our father’s attention and Tasmin was the baby, replacing me. I was lost. But these few days I was the special one. And that day my father told me I was his princess for the day and he had something special planned.
If I had known. If I had felt it and realised what the pain in my stomach was, that moment of impending dread and a warning shot your body gives you. I should of run to the neighbours. But instead I trusted him. I loved him and I foolishly craved his attention. I remember him pulling me onto his lap, I remember his hugs and his kisses. They weren’t what I remembered. They weren’t the simple affections of a father who doted on his little girl. These were different, corrupt….
Wrong….
I remember wanting to say no, I remember wanting to tell him that the game hurt and I didn’t want to play. But I stayed silent. I wanted to be his good girl, I wanted to be the one he spent time with. Not Amber. I closed my eyes and shut it all off. I let it all slip away. Afterwards I cried alone in the bathroom after he told me to clean up. I sat on the floor, pain in places I didn’t know I should feel pain. Tears streamed down my face and I felt confused and angry.
That was the first time. My first time. The next day they all returned. I sat in mine and Amber’s bedroom staring at the wall. I didn’t even play with our toys. They felt useless to me now. The second Amber walked in she knew. She looked down at me and put her hand on my shoulder, I looked up into her face and eyes, the same look I now had. She tilted her head and whispered in my ear telling me that if I needed to talk she was there, she said she was sorry.
And then I felt nothing. She felt it, she was hurt and angry for me. And it hit me like a ton of bricks. Amber had protected me for years, putting herself in front of the bullet each time. Making herself the one to take the perverted abuse that he called love. So, in the final act of kindness and love I had for the only person who really did protect me….I lied…
“Nothing Happened…”
