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1. Chapter 1 - Part 1. Longest Days   (The Begining Continued)
   
   
   I cared so much about my real father it was unreal. I think I cared so much because I knew he wasn't there. I remember sitting on the steps that lead right to the kitchen in my home at the time, waiting for him to "show up" like he said he would when he called. This had to of happened a thousand times to me. I remember getting so mad at my mother when she told me, "Janie, honey he isn't going to come." I would get so mad. I think I actually used to stomp off after sitting there even longer. But what is a fourteen year old supposed to do. Naturally I would storm off to prison. Prison meaning my room. I was always there. Didn't matter what I did. The "Step-dad" always had a way of sending me there, He was so bad with it that my friends, The ones I had because of all the drama my life had in it, They actually had to write me letters in the mail to talk to me. I could only see them in school. And to keep in contact they had to write me letters and send them via mail. How sad is that. If i wasn't grounded, which was hardly ever. I had the phone taken away from me. I remember getting grounded onetime because when I got off the bus, when I was in middle school. I stopped at the bus stop to have a small chat with my friends who also got off the bus. I guess I wasn't home on-time although I can only remember being there for a few minutes before I saw the blue van coming from a distance. As soon as I saw that damn thing I said bye ever so quickly and started to walk away as fast as I could pretending that I couldn't see him coming. Of course he stops and yells at me in front of everyone there. Just another embarrassing moment in my life. And what do you know. I was grounded....another 3 weeks added on to the month I had already received. Yes, you do the math.
   I remember praying, literally praying for him not to be home when I came home from school. I hated being there alone with him. I just didn't know what he was capable of. I tried so hard to keep my distance until my isters got home from school. They always got there later than me. They were in elementary school. Me and my sisters have the type of bond noone can touch. Were best friends. And our life, the way we had to live it made us that way. To us, we were outsiders. Our friends had this life we wanted so bad. None of my friends got called into the guidence counslers office and asked questions about what was going on in there family, and there house, and why we are the way we are. I tried to fit inwith the "in-crowd" and I did it very well. I was so surprised I could almost make my life invisable. I hid how I felt very very well. You learn to do that.
   By the time I was in high school I had had enough. I wanted no more with sleeping with a butcher knife under my bed. No more of him tunring the electric off in the middle of the night and staring into my moms room. There is nothing like having a man that you are terrified of stand in the doorway, but not in the room and softly chant "I'm going to kill you." WHO? mom? me? who? I was scared, I slept with my mother as much as I could. I was so sick at the fact that I could remember when he actually stole my sisters and I from my mother. He actually took us for a few months. I cried so much. I missed her. Why was he doing this. Why would he put little girls through this. I never understood.
   I remember when I called the police on him for the first time, that I can remember. "they are on there way." But, when they got there....nothing happened. They made ME sit outside on the curb in a night gown while they talked to him. Although I told them the truth, How we were eating and again he was drinking. I can't even remember how it got started my memories are in and out, but I do remember that my chair was infront of a wall. I was sitting at the dining room table one minute and watching this face across from me lash out and the next minute I am trying to push a kitchen table out of my stomach as its holding me against the wall. He pushed the table into my chest and stomach. I remember my mom screaming for him to stop. And she is the one that called the police, and still they did nothing. Years of abuse, physical and mental was turning my life upside down. I resorted to my room, that was my place, my home. My room, which soon became a suicide throne. I got on my knees beside my bed and bluntly out loud I said. "God, I pray that you will take my life, Take me away, I don't want to live anymore, I don't want to live anymore." This became a weekly event for me. Praying, Actually praying for God to please take my life. And oneday, I stood up to him. I went balistic, I started to hit the walls around me, My mom tried to restrain me. I had so much anger in me I think I would have killed him that night.
   
   Chapter 1- Part 2....coming soon.

Chapter 1 : As far back as I can remember

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  Here I am, A 23 year old woman, who still seems to be
  trapped in a little girls mind. Most of the time I can't
  figure out where I want to go, who I want to be, or weather
  or not I really want to run away. But where? Where would I
  go..I laugh at myself for thinking that I actually have a
  place to go. Living in Virginia isn't exactly easy. But
  then again, living anywhere isn't going to be either. I
  think I am looking for something...something to take all
  the pain away that I had as a child. Who would of thought
  that it would of have this big of an effect on me today. I
  always thought, living in a "broken home" where something
  was always getting thrown, either at you or at the wall.
  Always living in fear. Is he going to be drinking again
  tonight? Is he going to start another argument with your
  mother, the one who you run to because she seems to be the
  only living hero that you know. Are my two younger sisters
  going to have to stand up for me again and step in front
  of him again, praying he doesn't raise another open palm
  or fist towards you? I can honestly say that sometimes I
  wanted to give up, and I call it that because there really
  isn't a word for what I felt. That seems to be the closest
  one. It must of been because I was tired of getting
  grounded for two months at a time because for once in my
  life I would sass back because I was tired of his drinking
  and throwing things and the mental abuse I had to take in
  because at that point, that's how I thought my life was
  really supposed to be. I was used to it. I was tired of
  hearing him call my mother names. The thoughts I had in my
  head when he would call her a fucking bitch, or a fat
  cow.  She paid his way. She paid the bills in that house,
  took care of her children. Did everything a mother could
  do, all at onetime also while hearing her children cry
  literally in fear because they were afraid of there own
  father. And the sad part is he isn't even my real
  biological father. He was my step-father. Why should I
  listen to him, he wasn't my father. My won father, my own
  blood walked out on me when I saw no more than an infant.
  And he only lived about thirty minutes away from me at the
  time. He didn't care about me, so why should I care about
  him. I'd rather have no dad than to have a father figured
  like the one I had. My real father was a coward. How can
  someone make a child and not care about her where abouts
  or what her hair looked like now. Can she ride a bike? I
  didn't give two shits. But in reality I did.

•     If you wish to read more, Chapter 2 will be up shortly. **