The lights artificially lit up the room in a three bedroom house in England, to anyone walking into the room they would say it was light and that there was air flowing through the window, filling it with fresh air. They would say that the girl was simply not talkative.
To the lone girl in that room, this was not the case. To her this room was dark and confining, it trapped her in the depths of her mind, with her thoughts. It isolated her from the only person that ever loved her. She wanted out, she felt trapped and she felt rather claustrophobic in this dark and cold environment. It wasn't cold from the open window, but cold from the feeling it gave her. The feeling of being all alone in a world that seemed against her. A world that seemed to hate her.
She closed her hazel eyes, in a silent prayer to God that she could one day be happy again. That she could one day feel safe again. She prayed every night that the only one that loved her could be her birth mother for real. She knew it was pointless praying for it but the child in her couldn't help it, she just wanted her mother. She just wanted to be loved. She just wanted to feel safe. Was that so wrong of her? Or was it wrong that she had only felt safe for one month out of eighteen long and hard years?
She glanced at the screen, the screen that offered the only hope. The only link to her heart-mother, the woman that loves her, the woman that she wished could have given birth to her. She smiled every time she saw the woman's name. She always felt loved when she saw her name come up, and for a few split seconds she tricked her mind into thinking she was safe, or was that hope she held onto? Who knows… maybe it's a bit of both? Or maybe she was just delusional enough to think that she could be kept safe through a computer? She glanced around, she knew she wasn't safe. How could she be? After all, the people that hated her were sat on the floor below her. She looked towards the floor with fear in her eyes as though she were glancing into the pits of hell itself. She sighed; she sometimes wished she could be in peace. She wished she could be in heaven, because every time she tried to find a way to be with her mother she felt like she was being shot down. Every thing that failed, she felt like it took away a part of her hope. Then she would speak to her mother and her hope would once again blossom like a flower in spring.
Smiling at the fact she had a notification on the computer, she hoped it was her mother. She always hoped that it was her. She loved to talk to her, she would smile happily and her eyes would light up like candle lights in the night's dark velvet blanket.
She sighed realising it wasn't who she prayed it to be. She clicked on it, and she didn't know that this was not what she should have done. She wasn't prepared for this. How could she be? She went to the photos, then to the album. Posted everywhere. The black and white words spun in her mind. She was scared, and hurt. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to scream. A silent scream. After all when was her voice ever heard? When was her opinion ever cared about? She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry. How could someone ask these questions? How could this be anyone else's business? How could anyone put doubt on her relationship with her mother? How could they find their relationship so strange and alien that they feel the need to comment like this? She wanted to curl to her mother, she wanted to cling to her, she wanted to cry… to feel the arms of safety wrapped around her, the arms of the only one that truly loved her without wanting something in return for that love. Her body shook with fear and her eyes darted around. She was in a panic, and the only thing she felt safe doing was to defend her relationship with her mother, she would do that till the end of time. This was her mother, the only woman that loved her. How dare anyone judge that?
A few edited photos, and a fake birth certificate… was really her begging it to be real, she prayed every night that she would be hers by birth. She dreamt every night of the perfect world. When you grow up in darkness, all alone not knowing when the next hit or kick would be from, how could you not pray to be loved? How could you not wish that the woman that loves you could be your birth mother?
The answer seems so simple to those who have no clue what they are talking about, the situation seems easy to judge when you don't understand. Why is that? Why do people judge? Do people really need to help her? When she doesn't want their help? Every night she cries herself to sleep and prays for everyone but herself. She prays that her mother knows she is loved, she prays that her mother is safe and happy. She prays that her brothers and sister are both safe, as well as her father. To some they may not be her family but to her they are more than that. They are her world; they are her safety rope, because without them she would fall from this earth like a fallen angel into the depths of despair.
She closed her eyes and imagined her mother's arms around her, she knew her mother understood her, more than anyone else. Then again she never let anyone else in. How could she? When she felt she couldn't trust anyone else.
It is hard to understand what you haven't been through, it is hard to comprehend the reactions of someone who has been through more than you at such a younger age… but why find it necessary to judge when you have no idea what you are judging. Why put your opinion into the eyes and ears of others when you don't understand the full story?
She had tears streaming down her face; she prayed that she would hug her mother soon. She prayed she would have the strength to carry on fighting, but in the darkness all seemed a billion times harder, and so much more lonely in this world full of evil and negative thoughts.