I've thought about suicide. I mean, I know all of us have. We wonder whether people would miss us or not, who would cry, who will come to our funeral and say a few words. But, i've actually planned it, down to the smallest detail. Then I get to thinking and I wonder why should I? Why should I give him my life? Why should I give him what he wants? So, I tell myself, it's only three more years Bella, Its only two more years Bella, It's only one more year Bella. It's been my mantra for the past seven years, ever since I moved here when I was ten. He's never really abused me and I guess im lucky because of that. He could have been a total heartless bastard and fucked me up on the outside too, he didn't though and for that im grateful. But its still hurts when I come home with straight A's and he yells at me for not getting all 100's. When I win the student of the year award and he doesn't care and all he wants is for me to go make him dinner. It still hurts when he says he doesn't want me here, that I should just go back to my mom. But most of all it hurts when he says he doesn't love me, that he doesn't care, that he wished I were dead. And then he stomps away to his bedroom, only to come back five minutes later, kiss me on the cheek, and say "you know I love you right?" Half the time my thoughts are filled with ways I can kill myself, the other half is ways I can kill him. But I know I won't do it, that I don't have the guts. Im glad for that though, it means I also have brains. Brains enough not to kill someone and go to jail for life, brains enough to not give up and kill myself when freedom is coming soon.
I like my life, well, not necessarily my life but my soul. I know im a good person with enough will power to actually get somewhere in life, to make something of myself, even though he says I wont. Even though, he says im nothing but dirt on everyone's shoes, even though he says im nothing at all. I know I am something, something more than this. Something more than him.
I know I won't ever really be normal, but then again, who is? No one is normal and we should all be proud of that fact. We should be proud of who we are, what our skin color is, what our hair looks like, and the shapes of our bodies. We should be proud of us. Of everything that makes you, you, and me, me. Everything that makes us, us.
To get back on track though, I know I should be proud of myself. But its kinda hard when some one is constantly putting you down, always calling you fat, dumb, or ugly. Always saying you're worthless. I know im not though, and im trying hard to believe that. I want to believe that, its why im moving as far away as I can, to get away from him, to stay away from him, to make my own life as my own person who doesn't rely on him.
Ill tell you one thing. MySpace is a wonderful website.
When I was nine my mom decided she wanted me to spend quality time with my dad, to get to know him. So she sent me to his house in Portland, Oregon. When the summer was over he decided he liked having a kid and so he moved us to Forks, Washington, where no one knew us and we were far enough away so that when my mom came looking for me, she wouldn't find us. At first I liked it, I loved small towns and Forks is the personification of small town. But then he started getting mean. He started saying bad stuff about me, calling me a slut, saying im ugly and fat, that ill never get anywhere. That's when I realized that my dad wasn't so great, that he wasn't the perfect daddy that'll always be there for you to cry on, that I was never going to be daddy's little girl.
At that time, I had forgotten all about my mom, I mean I was only eight when I left and she was never the greatest mother anyway. Always flighty and with multiple boyfriends, but I knew she loved me. Shed always come in at night when she got home, she thought I was asleep but I wasn't, shed pull my covers up to my chin and say "I love you" every single night. She never forgot and she always stuck up for me when her boyfriends called me a brat. She always broke up with them afterwards and I loved her for that.
So a few months ago, my friend Alice decided I had to have a MySpace account and so she made one for me. One night, after a particularly hurtful lashing, I couldn't sleep so I decided to look my mom up on MySpace. I may have forgotten about her, but I never forgot her name and so I decided to go out on a limb here and look her up. I typed in her name and a few thousand results popped up. I spent the entire night combing the results, trying to find her when at the last couple pages there was a picture of a couple. I knew the woman in the picture was my mom but I didn't know the other guy. Her name was listed as Renee Dwyer. I spent the next month wondering is I should contact her, If shed remember me, if shed want me back. In the end, it was Alice who made me do it. She told me it couldn't hurt to try and id only gain from doing it. So I did, and now a month later she was flying up here to come and get me. I hope I have a better life with her than I have now with him. I know I will. MySpace reconnected me and my mom and ill forever be thankful. When im older and starting my career, I want to start a foundation for emotionally abused kids. They never really get help; they just take it in and never let it go until finally they burst. I want to help, I want them to know im there for them and that I know what they are going through. I know I can, because I am Something.