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[3] Character Study
Prompt: Muse Revival #147 - Battle Scars & I'm Alive
[TW – mentions of child abuse/neglect, alcoholism and drug abuse implied]
Since this is my journal, this will be wibbly wobbly and essentially all over the place.
My battle scars are mostly psychological.
If you ask me, psychological scars are probably the toughest of them all to recover from.
Even so, I'm thankful to be alive today. I never considered myself lucky before but, I'm lucky that I was able to, all things considered, get out of the cycle that my "parents" were wrapped up in. I got an education, I learned how to do something I love to do and make money at and honestly, I’m damn lucky to have a core group who actually cared about what I did.
For better or worse.
Growing up, I never thought myself as 'blessed' (do kids even think that?) or lucky to be alive. As far back as I can remember, it had always been a struggle. I've touched on it before but looking back, I probably always knew that my parents didn't wanted me. I was an inconvenience and a problem they simply didn't want. For the most part, they'd ignore me. Other times, they'd shout, hit me or grab my arm and drag me to places no child should ever be taken to. They were always drunk or high on something and never paid much attention to what their daughter did.
You know that kid Matilda who by the age of three was reading, talking and taking herself to the library? Magic or no magic, that definitely wasn't me.
At least, not the library part.
At night, when things at the house would get to be too much or bad, I would sneak out as soon as I could and walk to the nearby park. Our neighborhood wasn't the safest, so I remember always taking a fork (if you stab someone hard enough with it, it can hurt and give you that element of surprise) and a sharp knife with me.
They were within easy reach in the kitchen, wouldn’t be missed and I could tuck the fork into the pocket of my jeans. With the knife clenched in my fist, I remember always sticking to the shadows as I walked to the park, walking straight to the swing set.
Fuck.
I know how cliched it sounds but swinging and just playing made me feel free. Like any child should feel, you know?
It was getting late one night and I knew I should be getting back.
I never wanted to go back.
It was more peaceful outside than it was back at the house.
I heard someone walking in the grass, coming toward the swing set and I could feel my heart start to pound while my hands tightened around the chains of the swing. If my "parents" found out I was here, there was no telling what they would have done.
What if it had been another ‘adult’ who preyed on kids?
Looking back, that night was the first time that I ever believed luck was on my side. Thankfully, it wasn’t an adult. It had been a little boy who looked like he was my age from what I could make out in the darkness.
That boy? Was a fucking little shit.
But, that little shit, after a couple of times of meeting like that, became my first best friend and someone who, as much as he frustrated me, understood me and pushed me to be my best.
Eventually.
He’d get on my nerves. I’d get on his. We’d stop talking for a few hours but we’d always make up and be best friends again. As kids do.
We looked out for each other.
If I hadn't met Scott that night and we didn’t help each other to survive before eventually meeting the others... I'm not sure where I'd be today.
I don't want to even think about it.
But.
I promised myself that I would be honest here.
So.
Had I not met him? I probably would have ended down the same path as my parents if I even survived to adulthood.
Austin and Don would say that's absolute bullshit.
They say that I've been a fighter probably since day one and maybe they're right. I have been a fighter for as long as I can remember. As soon as I knew how, I'd lash out to defend myself then Scott.
So.
Maybe I would have reached adulthood, but I don’t think I would have been as happy as I am today.
I was really angry for most of my early years and teenage years. I think I craved some sort of structure and what some ground rules would give me… I craved stability. Whenever Don or Ricky tried to set some ground rules for us (despite being rather young themselves), I’d lash out and do the complete opposite of what they wanted.
Dios mio.
They were graduating high school when we met them and they still tried to do the best they could for some punk ass kids that they’d just met. They would just say that they remembered being that age.
No matter how much we pushed and pulled away from them, they were still there when we needed it – or needed a place to crash because we didn’t want to go “home”.
Scott, Abby and Jason’s stories are not mine to tell but after that, life changed for all of us.
It took me a long time to trust that they would stick around and wouldn’t just stop talking or letting us stay with them if we didn’t do everything they said or did. Don and Ricky stepped up in more ways than we could ever had asked for or imagined.
You know, I never knew what a “real family” was like until Don and Ricky decided to have Sunday family dinners and we were all told to be there.
I still have moments when I catch myself doubting, lashing out purely out of self-defense or second guessing everything. At the end of the day, they’re either down the hall or just a phone call away. They could be in the middle of a date, sex, work or… whatever and they’ll always answer if it’s an emergency (and even when it’s not). They say that Abby and I, most of all, impacted their lives and made them grow to be better men. But honestly, they’ve equally made us better as well and I’ll always be thankful to have them in my life.
Now I really am just rambling but fact is... I'm fucking proud by how far I've come and while I'm far from perfect, I didn't turn into my "parents" so that has to count for something, right?
(1,110 words)
[TW – mentions of child abuse/neglect, alcoholism and drug abuse implied]
Since this is my journal, this will be wibbly wobbly and essentially all over the place.
My battle scars are mostly psychological.
If you ask me, psychological scars are probably the toughest of them all to recover from.
Even so, I'm thankful to be alive today. I never considered myself lucky before but, I'm lucky that I was able to, all things considered, get out of the cycle that my "parents" were wrapped up in. I got an education, I learned how to do something I love to do and make money at and honestly, I’m damn lucky to have a core group who actually cared about what I did.
For better or worse.
Growing up, I never thought myself as 'blessed' (do kids even think that?) or lucky to be alive. As far back as I can remember, it had always been a struggle. I've touched on it before but looking back, I probably always knew that my parents didn't wanted me. I was an inconvenience and a problem they simply didn't want. For the most part, they'd ignore me. Other times, they'd shout, hit me or grab my arm and drag me to places no child should ever be taken to. They were always drunk or high on something and never paid much attention to what their daughter did.
You know that kid Matilda who by the age of three was reading, talking and taking herself to the library? Magic or no magic, that definitely wasn't me.
At least, not the library part.
At night, when things at the house would get to be too much or bad, I would sneak out as soon as I could and walk to the nearby park. Our neighborhood wasn't the safest, so I remember always taking a fork (if you stab someone hard enough with it, it can hurt and give you that element of surprise) and a sharp knife with me.
They were within easy reach in the kitchen, wouldn’t be missed and I could tuck the fork into the pocket of my jeans. With the knife clenched in my fist, I remember always sticking to the shadows as I walked to the park, walking straight to the swing set.
Fuck.
I know how cliched it sounds but swinging and just playing made me feel free. Like any child should feel, you know?
It was getting late one night and I knew I should be getting back.
I never wanted to go back.
It was more peaceful outside than it was back at the house.
I heard someone walking in the grass, coming toward the swing set and I could feel my heart start to pound while my hands tightened around the chains of the swing. If my "parents" found out I was here, there was no telling what they would have done.
What if it had been another ‘adult’ who preyed on kids?
Looking back, that night was the first time that I ever believed luck was on my side. Thankfully, it wasn’t an adult. It had been a little boy who looked like he was my age from what I could make out in the darkness.
That boy? Was a fucking little shit.
But, that little shit, after a couple of times of meeting like that, became my first best friend and someone who, as much as he frustrated me, understood me and pushed me to be my best.
Eventually.
He’d get on my nerves. I’d get on his. We’d stop talking for a few hours but we’d always make up and be best friends again. As kids do.
We looked out for each other.
If I hadn't met Scott that night and we didn’t help each other to survive before eventually meeting the others... I'm not sure where I'd be today.
I don't want to even think about it.
But.
I promised myself that I would be honest here.
So.
Had I not met him? I probably would have ended down the same path as my parents if I even survived to adulthood.
Austin and Don would say that's absolute bullshit.
They say that I've been a fighter probably since day one and maybe they're right. I have been a fighter for as long as I can remember. As soon as I knew how, I'd lash out to defend myself then Scott.
So.
Maybe I would have reached adulthood, but I don’t think I would have been as happy as I am today.
I was really angry for most of my early years and teenage years. I think I craved some sort of structure and what some ground rules would give me… I craved stability. Whenever Don or Ricky tried to set some ground rules for us (despite being rather young themselves), I’d lash out and do the complete opposite of what they wanted.
Dios mio.
They were graduating high school when we met them and they still tried to do the best they could for some punk ass kids that they’d just met. They would just say that they remembered being that age.
No matter how much we pushed and pulled away from them, they were still there when we needed it – or needed a place to crash because we didn’t want to go “home”.
Scott, Abby and Jason’s stories are not mine to tell but after that, life changed for all of us.
It took me a long time to trust that they would stick around and wouldn’t just stop talking or letting us stay with them if we didn’t do everything they said or did. Don and Ricky stepped up in more ways than we could ever had asked for or imagined.
You know, I never knew what a “real family” was like until Don and Ricky decided to have Sunday family dinners and we were all told to be there.
I still have moments when I catch myself doubting, lashing out purely out of self-defense or second guessing everything. At the end of the day, they’re either down the hall or just a phone call away. They could be in the middle of a date, sex, work or… whatever and they’ll always answer if it’s an emergency (and even when it’s not). They say that Abby and I, most of all, impacted their lives and made them grow to be better men. But honestly, they’ve equally made us better as well and I’ll always be thankful to have them in my life.
Now I really am just rambling but fact is... I'm fucking proud by how far I've come and while I'm far from perfect, I didn't turn into my "parents" so that has to count for something, right?
(1,110 words)