It's not that I'm scared of the dark, It's just that there's too much space at night. Too much room to wonder about. Too much empty cold space. I keep voicing my need of isolation but in the dark I'm most vulnerable and it's in the dark when I realize I hate being alone because the coldness that surrounds me is that only thing I have and, it scares me.

"Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they’re also what tear you apart."

— Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakam

Is it weird to look up to someone younger than you?

     I look at smiling pictures of my little cousin and think, "Wow, I wish I could smile so happily." But then I remember anyone can put on a fake smile in a picture and make it seem real. I remember that we've been through the same experience. I remember being four years old and getting molested for the first time. I remember her telling me she had been getting molested by the same man. Only difference was he lived in her garage and she was two years younger than me. Then I think, maybe she's forgotten about it. Maybe she received therapy, maybe she found a way to deal with it, maybe she was young enough to be able to turn it into a simple nightmare that was never reality.
     Is it weird to look up to someone younger than you? When I was in forth grade and she was entering second grade she finally told her parents what had been happening. When I was asked if it ever happened to me my body reacted on its own embarrassment and denied any such claims. It might have been the fact that my mother asked me while washing the dishes and my brother standing next to her or maybe it wasn't. But I regret it because maybe it I had admitted it, if I had told someone, anyone, I wouldn't feel as disgusting and perverted as I do now. Maybe if I had always admitted everything that has ever happened to me I wouldn't feel the need to cut myself. Maybe if I told my mom that five different guys molested me at different times I wouldn't suffer from depression.
     But in this life maybe isn't good enough and it doesn't get you anywhere. Still I can't bring myself to acknowledge my past and admit it. Not to anyone besides the cousin I haven't seen since I was 10 in the fifth grade. The only one to ever know my secret will be her and her alone.
 

          By the time you read this it'll be too late. You'll never truly know, how in love with you I was. The way your smile made me smile. The way your eyes always smiled. The way you held onto me when you were near your friends. The way you showed the girls how lucky I was. The way you teased me. The way that smirk of yours got me all hot and sent a bolt of excitement through me. The way you pushed me to the edge, dared me. Made me break every rule my mother ever laid out for me. The way you always managed to make me feel pretty even when I wore sweat pants, a baggy tee, and had messy hair. The way you always forgave me when I did something wrong. They way you never blamed me. The way you didn't care who was around us when we were together.

         I miss the late night conversations from sundown to sunup. The pulsing race I got when we went out because I was scared we'd get caught by my family. The excitement you gave me. I loved sneaking around with you. Loved holding your hand. The feel of your skin against mine.
        I just wished we were lucky enough to make it through life together. Why did you have to go and cheat? Why did I half to go and move? Why did my heart have to break in two?

       By the time you read this it'll be too late. You'll have moved on. To a beautiful skinny tall brunette with big assets. But don't worry. I've always loved you too much. Sure if I thought I stood a chance I'd fight for you, but I want you to be happy. Just like when you thought I loved my best guy friend and you broke up with me, because you thought I'd be happier. I'll let you go so, so you can be happier. I only hope maybe one day you'll come back, because I think we were meant to be.

Slowly those memories of ours where washed away and replaced with a bitter knowledge of a smiling demon in every picture and my ignorant one beside it.

I found out what we learn when we die
I found out the truth is all a big lie
I found out that words are hard to describe
I’ll tell you what we know now
It’s we run or we hide.-Bathroom stall

Because of you I remember why I have no self respect.

     At twelve you did the unspeakable. You fell in love. You experienced a kind of love you couldn't feel anywhere else. A two minute hug in the hall between classes only felt like a second. A kiss on the cheek was enough to send your toes curling and roses to your cheeks. An arm around your waist and a "Baby get over here," was enough to make your heart pound. Love was enough to make you forget everything else. Love was enough to set sail under a rose tinted sky leaving behind worries of a bitter past. Love was enough to forget about troubles at home or with friends. His encouragement was enough to get you straight A's year round. You were sure everyone could see the pink sky and smell the flowers in the air.
     But it was only an illusion. The pink sky hid a black hole who's sight was set on you, because it was your sky and not everyone elses. The flowers in the air was to cover up the smell of rotting dreams. The flower field you had left your love behind had disappeared and its traces only a memory. The sky began to melt and the air turned to smog and you found your self fighting to stay alive. You were thrown into a world where nothing made since and school wasn't as important as the rent money.
     Your mother tried to hide it from you but you always saw the red notices under her bed. You were forced to move around and around while you watched your mother switch lovers every year, because the bills needed to get paid. You watched her struggle as she tried to keep you away from it but you were always more attentive than she though. You helped her study when she went back to school. You watched her brake your promises one after the other. You began to resent her as you did your father. You dreamed of getting out. You dreamed of finding love, no matter who's arms they were in. You dreamed of finding love comparable to a twelve year old who remained hidden behind rose shade glasses.

"When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked and straightway loved an ass."

- Puck, A Mid-Summer Night's Dream; Act 3, Scene 2

Disgusting.

     I never go on facebook, mainly because I don't like social networking sites. But while surfing through 'friends you may know' I saw a name I recognized but a face I didn't. So I clicked in. I found this boy I knew from elementary only now he was a lot cooler and better looking than before. I'm not saying he was cute, because to me he wasn't even slightly attractive, but he looked better than before. It was not until after that I realized it could have just been someone else with the same first name, because I couldn't seem to remember his last name at the time. Still, I realized something.
     I always stand against bullying and say I hate it and the people who do it, but I was one of them, to this boy at least. Sometimes. I would make fun of him and blackmail him with horror stories from third grade (peeing yourself in class is something you can never out live). It's not that I was so bad or mean that he hated me, he liked me and we got along fine, but I still sometimes playing bully with him.Yet when people made fun of him or made him cry I would go crazy trying to defend him.
     The point is: when I made him cry, or sad, in return I had a gratifying feeling. And I find that disgusting.
     That I could find happiness from someone elses pain scares me more than anything. I do not want to be labeled a sociopath or some other kind of -path I just want to be happy. But then as I was writing this I realized this happened in sixth grade.
     That was the period in which my parents were going through a divorce and I was no longer the only kid in class with parents who were still together. I was coming to terms with my father being from a third world country from where a women's place is the kitchen and her king, her husband. A father who I learned told my mother to get an abortion the moment he learned I had been conceived. A father who, now that I learned, was mentally and emotionally abusing me and was neglecting me. A father who called me an idiot and was convinced I would never amount to anything in life. A father who my mother felt sure would try to kidnap if he had the chance.
     This is the man that 'raised' me. This was only a short list of things he did to me, the list of mental and emotional abuse he did to my mother could go on forever. An abuse I never even noticed.
     And I realize, now, that the reason I found happiness in his, the boy I bullied, pain is because my home life went to shit in a matter of two seconds.
    In these two seconds two things happened; One: my mother was physically abused, for the first time. And two: I saw it.