I don't own PJ...
Three years. That's how long it's been since I spoke. I never thought I could last this long. If I had known what would come from this, I would have stopped speaking sooner. But I'm done with this.
One thousand and ninety-five days. That's how long it's been since I had friends. At first, it hurt. I had friends, and then they abandoned me. Not only that, but they also became my torturers. One day at a time, keep pushing forward, one foot in front of the other. But I've been struggling for too long.
Twenty-six-hundred, two-hundred and eighty hours. That's how long I've been alone. Why did he go? He'd never acknowledged my birthday before, so why start? He was the only family I had left! He left me alone with her, why, if he had to go so badly, why couldn't her take her with him? But he's gone, and there's no point in wishing for impossible things.
I'm alone. No friends, no family, just the constant silence. My own thoughts kept me company. I tried to drown myself in books and music, trying to block out the voices that whisper to me. She fed me twice a day, breakfast and dinner. Lunch was a bit hit-and-miss. If I happened to find money, I'd buy something, but that rarely happened. I hid in the library every day at lunch and recess. I did work, and after school, I spent as much time volunteering at the public library, spending as much time away from the house as possible.
She is my step-mother. The witch my Dad married before his…yeah, you know what I'm talking about. I think she knew he'd die that night. That's probably why she sent him out. The day before, before it happened, She was just written into his will. All land, money and possessions would belong to her if something happened. She would be my legal guardian. Now She is. And it's hell.
She hit me. I was the paper towel of the 'family' (if you could even call us that), used then thrown away. I had to put up with those brats, my annoying little step-brothers, who can do no wrong. I was constantly blamed for anything they do. I was the mistake. In Her eyes, I should have died instead of my father. And so, I became nothing. I was locked away each night, and hit when I wouldn't answer, which, unfortunately, was all the time. I wouldn't argue back, it would go against my vow to remain silent. And I won't fight back. I know how dangerous She can get. I suffered in my silence.
I studied. All the time. I did it because I knew that one day, I would escape, and my only hope was getting into college on a scholarship. But I've realised, I don't need to wait until the end of senior year. I can leave all of this behind. I can escape!
I was followed by a black dog. He ate my soul and mind. He grew as my pain did. He followed me everywhere. Anytime I saw just the slightest bit of happiness, of joy or love, he would pounce, eating it whole, reminding me of what I was. A failure. A waste of space. He was the voice in my head, the one I tried to drown out. But the music and the books were all influenced by him. He changed me so much. All the happiness had been drained out of me. But now I know how to escape him, how to leave him behind.
And so now you know. Now you know why I live in a tiny room, with bars over the windows and a lock on the outside of the door. You know why I come to school with bruises, why I constantly study, or always have headphones on. You know. And I'm writing this, not because I think you care, because I know you, and you definitely don't, but because I'm saying goodbye. I can stand this anymore. I'm sick of dirty looks from classmates, of slaps and abuse for Her, and I'm sick of you. The people who knew me, and abandoned me. YOU left me to this, YOU are the reason this is happening. Through all of this, I needed you, and you knew that. I may have not voiced that, but you knew me. You knew that asking for help is one of my weaknesses, you always used to offer help, but as soon as I was left as pretty much an orphan, you left. You fled, scared of how I might change.
I wish I could say that I forgive you. I wish that I could say that I want you to have a better life than I did. But I can't. And I swear, if there is some form of reincarnation, or ghostly spirits, I swear, I will hunt you down, and make you pay. Ignoring me was bad enough, but what you did was unforgivable. And you WILL pay.
I've sent this to all of you, and you know who you are. You deserve to live with this for the rest of your lives. I want the pain and the guilt to build up inside of you, until you are nothing.
I have no sympathy for any of you and no more patience to pretend otherwise. I'm leaving. I hope that you read this, and weep. Feel my pain. Know that you are responsible for this.
THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT THIS IS YOUR FAULT
A/N: This came to me while reading Impulse and Perfect, both by Ellen Hopkins. I'm not sure if I should continue or not, so feedback would be greatly welcomed!
Please take a look at Soldier On, the link's on my profile!