Eighteen

Born to a loving mother, an abusive father. whether it be her love, or his hate, I've been cursed from the beginning. A child's earliest memory usually means falling off their trike or the smell of their grandfather's sweater not breaking glass and the screams from their mother. Leaving the driveway my father jumping on the car he wanted nothing more than to keep us. His third wife. His only child. We moved cities. We moved on. He remained immobile, focused on the past, and what he had lost once again. Time passes, and soon my mother has remarried. Her knight in shining armour. Our savior. My new father. But my real father still exists. never moving, still living in the past. He drinks to remember Drinks to forget what he had, and what he lost. Soon the knight's armour rusts and the secrets come out three years of abuse a minor his daughter A lovely woman named Sarah is my therapist she talks about my body and my right to say no two years past and eventually, the scars heal. soon the scars are back but not just on my heart. this time, on my wrists my ankles my thighs. These scars are not emotional. They are not because of others. They are mine, slicing with razor blades instead of his actions. I hide them, but nothing is hidden from my friends. Another year passes now I'm eighteen my mother has another boyfriend but this one is different. we trust him. there are no secrets nothing to hide. The scars have healed, relationships remain unsteady, but there are no regrets, nothing to fear anymore. I leave for college soon moving on moving forward. but my father has not. He is forever still, trapped in his own mind, in the past, and what he has lost.