For several long years I hid in the dark.
To afraid to come out into the light
I was nothing. A girl with bruises on her face and tear stained cheeks that shined at night. Alone. But not. This is my story.
Yes my story is not bright. It's not the best or pretty. But it's my story. I remember thoose awfull nights I would spend my nights inside the bathroom, clutching two brothers in my arms. To afraid to speak. The yelling getting worse with each night until it stops. But it doesn't.
This is my story. I remember grief and pain, drunk dad and a sick mom. Bruises and beatings. Will it ever get better?
And when I felt like nothing I was taken from my home. Tossed from people to people who thought they knew the hell I had been through. They were wrong. Hate, spite, anger. These emotions had ran through me. But it was my story.
So you see? When we feel like we are dying, when we feel the last thread of hope slip through our minds....there is always someone who has been through what you have.