I sat in my home office. Otherwise known as my bedroom. I'm too scared to sleep in my own room. Sad, for a 14 year old right? But over two months ago, my mother; who lived with long term depression, woke me up, seemingly drunk. Wasn't until I went downstairs five minutes later I discovered she'd overdosed on her pills. The memory of her distant eyes and confused expression still haunt me when I close my eyes. The smell of her vomit and urine combined to form a sent great enough to fear me of my own bedroom. I sit alone, on the couch with no comfort from knowing she's in hospital now, still months after the incident. My family visited sure, but they all left in the end. Why wouldn't they? I would if I could…
As I dwell in thoughts of misery I wander if I'll ever be happy. Happy with the people I love. I won't. I know I won't.
The only person that makes me happy is Punk. I've never met him, nor do I believe I ever will but when my dad left, and my mum nearly died, wrestling and him were the only constants. The only things I could rely on. I don't see him as the perfect lover like most fans…that just wrong to me. I see him as a dad, a dad I was ripped away from. We both have similar childhoods, his father an alcohol abuser, my mother a drug abuser and my father a sex abuser. He knows my pain deep inside. No one else on this planet can understand my scars the curse my body but him. I want to be hugged by him, to smell his colonel and hear his voice tell me every things going to be ok. I want him to take me away from this hell I live in and become my family. Become my dad that treats me like a daughter. I want to laugh and joke with him, but know when things get serious he understands. I want him to vowel to protect me, not shove me in the front line like my family did. In a nut shell; I want him to tell me every things ok. Because he's the only one that can truly mean it.
I cry. Alone every night. Eyes closed feeling his cotton shirt and strong arms hold me while I cry. I smell his sent and her him whisper reassuring thoughts. Then I cry harder because the closest thing I have tot hat is a pillow, already coated with tears. The pain only grows, as does my loneliness.
I stand alone. Who can I tell of my only wish? Even I agree it sounds like some mentally ill fan-girl but in my mind I know it's innocent. Simple thoughts to help me through each day. I know it's true, but is that really so bad?
You see, this isn't a fan fiction. This is me. Becky Morris finally telling someone, anyone why she cries at night. All alone in the office. Hugging a pillow…dreaming she was loved.
This is my story.
I just don't want so sound crazy. Crazy like my mother.