It’s oddly hilarious that I find myself thinking of those times again. Memories that for so long I tried to repress just came bubbling right back up to the surface and the wounds were still just as fresh as they were in the beginning. How foolish of me to believe I could forget.

But I so desperately want to.

My sanity depends on it.

I guess it started long before I could form coherent sentences. As the oldest child in the entire family, I was naturally the one everything came back too. After my younger brother was born, I wasn't quite as alone as I'd been. Soon after my cousin joined us. As the only family we had at that point we were almost always together. We were the dynamic trio. Normal for most of our childhoods, we enjoyed the better parts of life. Well, I guess after all, we didn't know we were missing anything. We didn't know how lucky we were; to be so naive to believe that things could always stay the same.

But they couldn't.

Things never stay constant.

People change.

Like my mother for instance. As a single mom she did a lot for us. She worked two jobs just to pay the bills and make sure we were well feed. She met this man, and several months later we went to live with him and his two teenagers. He treated us like family. My brother was so young, he didn't know the difference. I guess that’s what made what happened so hard on him. But I knew, I never forgot. I always felt like an outsider looking in at this should be happy family. We spent the next six years at his home; my mom had gone to college to become a teacher because for some odd reason she wanted to help brats like us. Then slowly I felt a change, a distancing between the two of them. I felt uneasy, I didn't want to move. I'd gone to the same school my entire life; a small place where everyone knew everyone else. My friends weren't just friends; they were my family.

But you can wish.

Even have naive hope.

But in the end it gets you no where but hurt.

One day after my mother had picked us up from daycare, I knew something very bad had happened. She was muttering to herself and driving way to fast up our tree lined hill. By this time I was wary of fast driving, we'd had an accident the previous winter. I walked away with a concussion and an innate fear of black ice and deep valleys that never seemed to end. When we got to the house she told us to stay downstairs until she told us we could go up. After awhile we heard crashing sounds above our heads. I snuck to the top of the stairs and peeked into the hallway. The photos that had been hanging on the wall were sideways; some were broken and torn to shreds on the ground. I could hear my mother crying in pain. A little while later he showed up at the house from work and they started fighting. She came downstairs and told us to get into the car; and that we were never coming back. I found out later he had cheated on her because he wanted to have more kids that had his bloodline in them.

We weren't good enough.

We were the outsiders looking in at a life we'd never have.

I understood.

But my brother didn't. He called this person a lot; he'd made a promise to my brother to be there for him when he needed him. He never answered the phone. Then one day the women who he'd been cheating with answered the phone. She screamed at my then 8 year old brother. Called him a worthless bastard son of a bitch and told him that the man didn't want to talk to him. That he wasn't his pretend daddy any longer and to get on with his fucking life.

I watched my brother change that day.

My best friend was gone.

And I was no longer a child anymore.

My mother went back to working all day; leaving myself at the age of 11 to watch my brother and take care of the apartment. I became my brother’s keeper; helping him with everything, watching him grow, change further and further away from what he'd been. I had never felt so alone.

But I didn't know what alone felt like back then.

Things are always darkest before the dawn.

Or some lie like that anyways.

A couple months later my mother started dating again. She met this man and brought him home. I didn't like him at all; little red flags popped up all over the place. I wouldn't talk to him; I refused to get close to anyone like that again. I couldn't be hurt like that again. But my mother saw something in him; all though I still fail to see what even to this day. He started staying over more and more; and then one day he just never left. He ate, slept and drank. Drinking consumed most of his time and most of my mothers pay checks. Soon I realized I wasn't getting enough to eat. I was always hungry. I was cleaning up after two children (my brother and him), going to school for 6 hours a day, participating in sports and girl scouts. I was always tired.

I learned something quick.

When you’re tired it’s easier for life to sink further into darkness.

The unending pit that’s inescapable when you’re all alone.

My bother naturally was attached to this person. He wanted a dad. That’s all. That’s all he ever wanted. I didn't. I didn't need another person there to make things worse. One night, my mother and he got into an argument; he bitch slapped her in front of me. I thought for sure he'd be out the door after that. But my mother forgave him. It was just an accident. That’s all. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it when he called me a whore. I didn't believe her. After that, he hit her more often. He'd be drunk or stoned and he'd beat the shit out of her. After a while he started hitting my brother too. Never on the face. Never were bruises would show. He was that smart I guess. He never touched me. Not once. He didn't have to. He knew that words hurt worse.

I was a fat lazy whore.

I deserved to have everything taken away from me as punishment.

I was worthless.

There are things that you don't forget. Like seeing your 8 month old puppy be kicked down two flights of stairs for peeing on the carpet. Or hiding in your room so you don't get struck upside the head by flying iron pots. Or watching your mother get in her car in a blackout to try to run over the man who had ruined everything and watch her drive the car into a ditch. There are words that you don't forget. You will never be good at anything, you’re just a failure. I'm ashamed of you. Maybe I should not feed you for a week to make you lose some of that fat you lazy whore.

That pain never fades away.

Those memories never fade away.

Those feelings don't stay buried for long.

How naive of me to think so. To think that I could be normal. That I could be happy. That I could ever love myself. How can you love when you've never been shown? How can you be a good person when you’re always angry? How can I say I'm happy when I'm miserable?

How can you fix what’s been so broken, for so long?

In the end,

I'm not sure it matters.

That’s just the beginning of the tales of this broken girl. But I won’t bother you with the rest.

Like I said.

I'm not sure it matters anyway.