Category : Diary/Journal

Sub Category : N/A

Dear Diary,

I've been avoiding telling you all this for a while now, but like I told you before, you are my friend - my only friend, and you are supposed to tell your friends your secrets, right?

     I've tried convincing myself that it is far too soon to tell you all this, that I'm rushing my story, but this is the beginning, and whether one cares to admit it or not, every story has a beginning. 

    The rain pounding impatiently on fragile glass, 
the bright bolts of lightning repeatedly striking the ground, killing the grass, as well as the creatures that dwell upon it, the deafening thunder waking the gray clouds sunken in slumber, had ceased a while ago, and I couldn't figure out why the lights were still out; all of the things that cause the power to shut off had stopped, yet, the home in which I live still had no lights; this annoyed me. 

    I have yet to discover a part of my body not clothed in sweat. 

    My thick, dark hair has become far too stringy for my liking: torn apart by sweat, the sweat on my fingers stains my pants, my bum is stuck to the sheets beneath me by the sweat that binds it there, and salty liquid drips into my mouth; although I've never wished to drink my own sweat, because of my severe state of dehydration, and laziness, I had no other choice. 

    Of course, the cover concealing my body was to blame for this; why I refused to remove it, I will never know; maybe what would happen tonight hung on the edge of my tongue, but I was far too young, naive, and ignorant, to grab ahold of it, maybe I wanted to savor the few segments of innocence I still possessed, and inside of my mind, the only way to do this was to keep a cover over me. 

    Attempting to cool my body for at least two seconds, I allowed my right arm and leg to loosely dangle off of the mattress I lie on, and closed my eyes to make my body think of something other than the heat consuming it. 

     By now, heavy footsteps had come toward me; I could hear the floor coming closer and closer to its breaking point with each step they took. 

     Though this frightened me: Their frame creepily hovering above me, their shadow destroying the few little specks of light that remained, their brown eyes practically boring a hole in my face, my chest, my private, I kept my eyes shut, squeezed them, really. 

    Their hands wandered about my pants; when discovering my private, their palms squeezed roughly, violently on it: first, the fabric of my bottoms and panties, and then, flesh; not as I had wanted to be touched, not as I'd imagined it, not like a man touches a woman in the movies I've watched. 

I opened my right eye just a little to see who'd touched me where a child shouldn't be touched, especially one of such a young age: ten, of one whose pride was her innocence: It was my father. 

    All I can think afterwards is, 
I shouldn't have worn those pants. 

That's how it all - the suicidal thoughts, the stress, the screaming, the tantrums - began. 

Copyright. 11.05.17