The Terrors of growing up

Tue, 12/16/2014 - 23:11 -- JemimaG

My sister, the young, little, skinny bundle of innocence.

When i think of her, i think of all the things that i wish to be.

All the things i wish i could have been.

Tall, Skinny, beautiful, talented, smart, innocent.....happy.

When i think of her, i think of all the pain, all the experiences, all the emotions and betrayals.

All the things that i hope, wish, beg and pray, that she will never have to endure. 

Remeber those "Best friends", the ones that promised to be there forever, together forever! bffs! inseberable! sisters! freinds that love you like family. 

Eventually all the loving and caring started turning into backstabbing, lying, crying, hurting. 

They broke your heart. 

Oh but not all of it, just the part that didnt break when he left you for the girl he told you not to worry about, the girl that you once called your best friend.

You gave him everything, anything that had one tiny ounce of meaning to you, it was given to him. 

Your last and most vauable drop of innocence, a drop so precious it was worth more than pure gold, was given up, to him. 

But he didnt care. he gave it all away, burnt it all to ashes just so he could be with her. 

You try not to show that you care because in our generation if you show that you care, your called weak and crazy .

so you react by finding someone else, someone new, someone who can take your mind off the pain of loosing him. 

Suddenly their calling you a hoe, a slut, a bitch, a whore, a freindless nobody. 

Your trying to forget the nasty words, and you do.

Untill

Untill its late at night, your home alone, standing in front of the mirror while waiting for the shower to warm up.

You look at your body, looking at what some call beautiful yet some call ugly, trying to decifer the truth almost as if your life depends on it.

Their words come backs, "whore" "slut" "bitch" "no friends" "hoe"  "ugly"

Those words like metal disks being thrown at you, the more you hear them the more they hit you. 

Each time, each disk leaving a diferent cut, a diferent scar, so many untill you finialy drop onto the cold tile of your bathroom floor.  

That feeling, the feeling of fragile knees harshly hitting the hard floor, the feeling deep in your stomache when you've been crying so hard that you start to throw up, the feeling of sadness, loss, pain, and depression. 

Those are the feelings i hope that my smiling, beautiful, little sister never has to feel. 

 

 

 

 

 

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