Creative Writing: Taring

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SHARING Some of my childhood memories are gone, but what I do remember makes me glad I don’t remember all of it... At six years of age a child’s voice doesn’t really hold any merit when it comes to where they should or want to be in such an unforgiving world. I knew my mum wanted me there but a world that only pays attention to money won’t stop to pay attention to the whims of an insignificant life. When my mother’s financial problems began I went to live with my father, and his wife. From the beginning it was clear that I was going to receive no affection from the trog. My father was often gone on business trips, leaving me alone to defend against the abusive cow who took her angers – for not having custody of her own children…show more content…
Sadness - the only feeling coming through the numbness. The way she treats me I am surprised she even goes to the effort to feed me. I hear the clink of cutlery from the kitchen and automatically tense in scared trepidation as she enters the room. She clonks my plate down on the table, making me jump from the noise. I quickly offer the sincerest sounding apology I can manage. Most of the food is good and I try to find peace in the smell of the distinctive aromas and tastes. When everything else in life is so crap you have to take advantage of enjoying the small things. I finish and all that is left is some pieces of asparagus. I grab my plate and walk around the table to her side, but as I go to take her plate she places a firm grasp on my…show more content…
I can remember most of my early childhood being an infinite stretch of loneliness and a great sense of grief. That woman forced me through daily pains that no one should have to endure – I remember school being on par with hell, each day I was bullied and teased because I was forced to wear cheap, awkward clothes that didn’t fit. Her aim was to keep me humiliated, make me meek and be low maintenance. My time with her was an endless nightmare. I eventually got away. For many years I just felt disconnected and numb, unable to communicated or understand this. I loathed myself and believed that I was inferior to everyone else. Middle aged and the after effects of my abuse have followed me this far in my life being a never ending cycle of depression and abusive intimate relationships. Acknowledging the root of the problem has allowed me to shift my perspective somewhat. I’ve known for some time that it was the only way to take responsibility for my own existence and define myself according to my wishes and not according to the control of others. I was just afraid of the memories that might resurface which I have tried so hard to suppress. But what helps the most with beginning the long process of healing is sharing your story so others can help you with the burden

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