The difference between hell and home (Part 1)

I always thought  “What’s the difference between hell and home when all I do is go from hell to another hell?”  I couldn’t tell the difference between a place where I found comfort and a place where I felt like I needed to dissemble myself. These places just seemed to collide together, but compared to my head crashing into heart like it did on a regular basis; These places felt like nothing. I was in the same spot by choice very rarely, “hanging around” just didn’t seem to be my thing. Every colour of my artistic mind, every aspect of my life just kept mashing together. Every place felt the same after awhile, I just knew I needed to hide, escape. The battles I fought on the outside were hard to handle and cope with, but little did I know the ones that were inside of me would be the ones that would take over and eventually win.

On the outside I was a bold young girl with a crazy sense of style, so crazy I couldn’t even go the whole day with wearing just one thing. To the look I was put together, bubbly, and to the touch I was kind and empathetic. To be my friend I was loyal, but to be the person I lusted after, I was not. I tried hard to be noticed, weather I realized it or not, I tried hard to look nice, and to say the right things, to do the right things, I tried hard to make certain friends, to be certain places. You could say I was anything, and I was everything. But on the inside I was unlike no other “socially and mentally normal” teen, on the inside I was on the verge of selling my soul to the devil.

I question my every decision and my insanity now looking back on those years. Feeling like it was decades ago I was there, but knowing it was just a few short years. Many memories crowd my mind when I think about who I became and why,  sometimes it feels like I don’t even know if the memories  are real or not. My life was my own personal horror story, equipped with drugs, sex, and torture of many kinds.

Its starts like any other typical story, with a very happy young girl. 11 years old to be exact, innocent and naïve to the least and her parents getting a very crude divorce. Moving out of a home they all once shared together into a basement apartment with just her mother and sister. You could say it was rough going from parent to parent just to hear them each talk viciously about one another. Confusing mostly, not knowing who to trust, who to believe. Both of them extremely upset from what they feel their lives have come to, but me still to young to even begin to understand. High amounts of stress rapidly came into my life due to this confusion, not being able to understand why things where happening the way they were, or why my mother and father seemed to hate each other so much. It took an uncertain toll on my adolescent mind and body. Fighting back and forth constantly, moving from one parents to the others over the next few years was life changing. Devastated by most of the out comes involving them I began to just ignore one while I was involved with the other. It seemed to make things easier at the time. It was a never ending battle in which I still fight today. Having my father barley around in my most developing years as a young women had an overwhelming effect on how I made my most important decisions. Typically, I was always searching for the attention I never felt I never received, searching for that strong hand to tell me that it would always be okay. However instead of putting my trust into my father, I’d tell all of my most precious secrets to people who told me I was beautiful.

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