Before I was born,

everything was okay, 

nothing existed.

When I was 2,

well, I don't remember, but I think that's a good thing.

My parents tell me I used to be fascinated by my newborn brother,

always petting his hair gently and wanting to hold him.

When I was 4,

everything was okay again. Great.

I didn't know what responsibilities were,

and most importantly, the only things on my mind were laughter and happiness, which is all I had.

I miss being 4.

When I was 8,

I watched my mother chase after my oldest sister at 2 a.m., who at the time was about my age now.

I saw strange men talking to her when they hadn't realized we were watching, and they would quickly show their identities on a card in a hurry, scared, when my mother confronted them.

When I was 10,

my older sisters told me I was a woman, and everyone kept saying congradulations.

When I was 12,

I didn't know that was going to be the start of where I am today.

I didn't know I was going to feel nothing, but

I remember my father falling on me all the time and forgetting his own name.

The day I turned 13,

I cried.

When I was 14,

I craved isolation and for the first time, a boy, who not long ago left my head completely.

When I was 15,

I sat alone and I didn't speak, 

and I hurt in all the places where pink, red and purple lines were inscribed in my skin, and 

all the places I saw my father take his sickening anger out on my mother, and

where my sister squeezed a belt to herself, wanting air but hating what came with that.

Now,

Sometimes I wish to go back to how things were before I was born,

but really, I long for the feelings I had during my fourth year.