"I love you daddy" The little 5 year old me exclaimed. Those words use to mean something, use to represent a good home, happy life, a good tale for a young child. As I grew and the years began to pass by I was now 13 it's strange how we all age so quickly I thought to myself, patiently, quietly thinking. The white room as I called it, it had no color, and a little messy. It was my room with a blank expression, pale and lonely. I looked down at my drawings and closed my eyes. I took my anger, sadness, even every bit of emotion into the drawing and or character I created, painting softly, whispering in my ears. I knew I had something in me, like a lingering soul. I was very confused. My step mother always seemed to like the name Crybaby, and so that's what I always know myself as. Crybaby. My father, he's another story. He calls me nasty names. Even making fun of everything. Like something took over him. He was no longer "daddy" he felt like a stranger. A mean, old, stranger. Not to mention they both took away my best friend. Oh how I miss her. Almost took away him too. Just because he likes being called 'him' and loves both genders. It's called love. Something he, my father doesn't have.
He still hits me, and it hurts, and yes, I cry. Oh boy do I cry. I can't help it it just flows out. did I mention I let my feelings out through writing as well? I couldn't take my broken, abusive, lonely home. I didn't want to be here. That's why I choose to leave. Leave these assholes. Leave the ones who hurt me. The ones who made me this way. Im no longer the little 5 year old. I'm the depressed 13 year old. With no friends, no laughter, no smile.