Facade: An outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant or creditable reality

Facades can be powerful. So powerful, they can completely conceal the person within, so now not even them themselves can recognize themselves.

Truly and Honestly, I stand among them.

There's more behind my life than just my mother's death. People hear that she died, and they always just take to the solution, "Oh, that's why she doesn't talk much." No, not even close. My Mother wasn't as perfect as she's always described as. She didn't die from some sickness. Or a car wreck.

No, she died from a drug overdose.

Yep, my mother, was a crack addict. She completely despised me, and never wanted a thing to do with me. She died a few months after I was born, leaving my father to explain how she really died. Everyone who ever asked me about my mother, I responded with typical causes. Not because I didn't want to explain how she died.

I was too ashamed.

Embarrassed.

She died, because she didn't want me. Yeah, well, least her and my father got along on something. He didn't want me either. He only kept me around, so I wouldn't go telling the police about his dealings. And, also so he got a punching bag to play with. I believe the correct term is, oh I don't know, child abuse? But I wouldn't dare tell anyone. Not with the threats that were thrown at me if I did.

Rape.
Beaten and Tortured. Again.
Death.
No, I know what you're thinking, and the abuse is not what put me in my current state today.

One year ago, 6 months, and 12 days ago, I was taken into an alley, and I was raped.

It was a cold, crisp night, with not a soul on the street. All except me. Figures. Walking past the alley nicknamed 'Soul Snatchers Alley' Where most rapes are figured to happen, I now dimly realize, Why in bloody hell was I walking past it? I Should have steered clear of it, but of course, it was quicker, easier. Unless, you know, an obstacle gets in your way. My obstacle,was called an unknown guy pinning my arms against my back, and dragging me into the alleyway, suppressing every noise that ever left my throat.

I just figured I was getting mugged.

I just figured they'd realize I was a poor student and let me go.

I just figured I would get out of this unharmed.

Well, we all figure sometimes, right?

The rest, you can probably figure out.

My innocence was taken, all my hopes, everything I've held onto. Gone.

After that obstacle was over and out, I received what was left of myself and limped and staggered back home, hoping my father was passed out drunk and not up and ready to kill me.

He was knocked out. Thank God something actually went better today.

After that scarring day in time, I never look at anything the same anymore. Nothing. Myself, I'm a dirty slut who can never get clean. My father, a poor, unfortunate man who got a slutty daughter like me. No wonder he hits me, I probably deserve it. Any man, any physical contact, any references to sexual intercourse, I feel all the memories of that night, come flashing back. Hitting me in the face.

All facades go up with a reason. Some go up and come back down. Some never go down.

My facade will never go down. Not ever. I cling to that hope, like a life preserver.