Everything you do

June 6, 2010
By pommer12 BRONZE, Howell, Michigan
pommer12 BRONZE, Howell, Michigan
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Everything You Do Can Affect Someone Else

“Julie!” my mom’s words rang through me. I knew hiding was no good; it would only make her angrier. I walked out of my room only to find my mom’s hand colliding with the side of my face. The impact sent me falling to the ground. I stay there, too afraid to move. How is it possible that I am the only one that can see the evil lurking in the dark depths of her icy blue eyes? What did I do to deserve this? Why is it that I am always alone? Nobody loves me, the counselors always tell me that my mom loves me; but they don’t know the truth. Nobody can know. She doesn’t love me; I know she doesn’t, because if she did she wouldn’t act like this. She wouldn’t hit me! I can’t help but wonder if it is going to get worse. My mom’s angry footsteps drown out the sound of my mental babble. I get off the floor and go to my bed, too scared to do anything, not caring that I haven’t eaten, or gotten into my pajamas, I lay on my bed and silently cry myself to sleep.

Have you ever wanted to share a hug or a laugh with someone close to you? Today I wanted that more than anything. School was going to start in a couple hours. I woke up early; which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering all night long the awful scene between my mom and I kept playing over and over in my head. When I woke all I could think about is, how could I get this pain to stop? Who could I go to for help? I have no friends, everyone thinks I am some spoiled snobby rich kid, but they don’t even know half of my life story. Sometimes I wonder, would people treat me different if they knew about the awful bruises, scars and cuts that linger along my skin? Would they believe me? You know I have thought about it so many times, there are so many ways, and every single one of them would stop the pain; but is my life so horrible that I want to end it at such a young age? The pain engulfs me, the suicidal thoughts consume me, but I will keep living my life, in hope that it will become better.

The bad thoughts are pushed from my mind, when my door slams open, the hinges crack, the door breaks, no doubt I will be blamed for that later. My mom comes over, and unable to stand up to her, lacking the confidence to protect myself, I lay limply in my bed, knowing what was coming next. I shut my eyes waiting, wishing that I was somewhere far away from her, and waiting for the pain to stop. Her hand smacks me across the face so hard, that blackness overwhelms my vision. Was I finally dead? If it wasn't for the pain I would've thought I was. Unconsciousness is not like sleeping. At least for me it wasn't, to me it seemed like a prolonged stay at the bottom of a murky lake. Sometimes I would struggle upward, and could see shafts of light and hear voices from above. Other times I lay mired in the silt below, my arms and legs too heavy to move. I wanted to believe that I was dreaming, asleep in my bed, with my mom off at work, but the images were too vivid, too horrible, and I thrashed harder and harder, hoping to get away from her. Impossible for me to judge how long I fought to the surface, but finally the light became harsh and bright, and with a final kick I burst through.

As my mind began to wake up, the light blinded me, it reminded me of when I was a young child and my friends would dare each other to stare at the sun. At first I could not tell where I was, but then I heard my mom’s harsh words, “You better not tell anyone about this! Julie, did you hear me? You should really listen to me! I said, you better not tell anyone about this! If people ask where you were, say you didn’t wake up in time, or something!”

“… yeah, I kn…” I tried to finish but my voice wouldn’t work. I was trying fight back the darkness that wanted to imprison me again. Maybe I should stop struggling, it wasn’t that bad, at least there was no pain there, but deep down I knew that if I gave into the dark, I would never wake up. I sat there, not moving, waiting for my vision to come back. I wish that my mind would have shut down like my body. The thoughts brought all of the painful memories back. The younger years when my mom was actually the mom I loved, when she actually cared for me. When she had perfect movie star good looks and her hair was always a perfect field of gold. But all of this changed when my dad left. Now instead of reminding me of a loving and caring movies star, she reminds me of a hateful homeless person. Her hair is never combed and she always wears way too much make-up. The comparison of her looks is not the only way she has changed; she never used to be abusive. She used to be caring and loving, and she used to be like the mom that I have dreamt of to this day. The thoughts fade away and the blackness follows with it.

I had to get up and get ready for school, I knew that if I didn’t my mom would be coming up here and I would be in for it. I got up, and was shocked by the pain that filled my head, it was nothing like I had ever experienced. I stumble over to my shower, the water felt good against me, but I wish that the pain would disappear along with the water, and the unbearable throbbing in my head would tag along behind it. I regretfully got out of the shower and got dressed, without the soothing water flowing around me the pain intensified. I got dressed and walked down the stairs, wondering how this day could get any worse. You think I would have learned by now, never to say that. My mom barged in and saw me hunched over on the kitchen table with tears filling my eyes. She starts to scream, “What did I tell you young lady? You are supposed to be acting like nothing’s wrong! What are you a wimp? I didn’t hit you that hard!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled the words, but my mom didn’t seem to care. I tried to sit up straighter and the pain intensified to a very unbearable level, tears started falling from my eyes, unable to stop them, but I knew my mom would freak.

Just like I predicted my mom turned around, coffee in hand and screamed at me again. “Really, I thought that I raised you to be tough, one little hit on the head makes you cry. Wow, really Julie, no wonder your dad left us!”

I knew I should have stopped crying, but those words hit something deep inside me, something I had been trying to hide since he had left. How could she possibly say that? It was her fault he left, not mine! Does she know how much those words hurt me? Of course she doesn’t and even if she did she wouldn’t care, she doesn’t care about anyone but herself. But does she even care about herself? My mom’s car horn echo’s through the house, calling for me to get moving. I knew it was time to face the kids at school again, pretend I don’t hear their whisperings, gossiping with each other about me, talking about how I’m such a snob. Many times I have thought about standing up and screaming to everyone ‘Do any of you know how it feels to be abused?’ but I knew better than that. If I did do that, I would be dead.

I went through school like every other day, ignoring the whispers that started as I entered the hallway. Would people really care if I died? Would they notice? No, it would be like I never existed. Isn’t that what I wanted? Yes. I wanted it to be like I was never born. I wanted to end the pain for ever. Would I be better off if I let my mom kill me or I killed myself? My mom never did realize that everything she does affects somebody else’s life. Everybody she yells at, everybody she hits, and everybody she looks down to, starts to feel bad about themselves because of her. Does my mom realize that what she does affects my life? Does she know that I want my life to end, just to escape her? Would she care?

Today at school I made up my mind. I cannot stand it anymore, I have no friends to miss me, no mom or dad who cares, I am all alone in this world. If my mom tries another stunt like this morning, and I have the choice to live or die, I will chose to die. If she doesn’t then I will kill myself. The last hour of school I spent writing my suicide letter. This time I would not chicken out. It will be my last day on this hateful planet. I knew I was making the right choice. I would finally be happy. The last bell rang; the last school bell I would ever hear. I walked to my locker for the last time, but today I walked with pride, I was confident for the first time in my life, in high spirits. I knew that she would not be able to hurt me again. Would she feel guilty that she drove me to suicide? I doubt it.

I put all of my belonging in my locker, and walked out into the pouring rain. I let my mind wonder while I trudged the familiar path home. I can’t believe that I have only been on this earth for thirteen years and she drove me to do this. How am I going to do it? Bleed to death? No, to painful. Starve myself or dehydration? No, takes way to long. Overdose? No, doesn’t always work. Drown? Yes, it won’t hurt that long, and I can end it quicker. I thought about my life the past ten years. How many times have I been a blink away from death? How many times have I hid in my closet hoping she wouldn’t find me? How many times have I had to cover the bruises and act like everything was fine and dandy? Way too many times to count. How long have I wanted to end it? Ten years. Finally, today was the day I got to end the misery for good and I could not wait. From this day forward everyone should realize that everything you do affects someone else’s life, if I had one friend this might not happen. But no, nobody cares, and now it is too late. I open the front door and walk in. The house was so familiar but yet so different. With my mom being at work, I could take the time to admire the beauty of the house. Something I never got the chance to do before.

The house had something that I haven’t noticed since the day my dad had left; it had a certain happy glow to it. The style of the curtains, and the pretty hand carved wooden tables that lay along the rooms were magnificent. They reminded me of him, how he was always so happy, how he could make any of my problems disappear whenever he laughed. He was perfect in every way. Today I would remember my family, today I would meet up with all my deceased family members. Today was the first day I have smiled in the past ten years, and today was the day I would die. I floated up the stars. When I reached the top I Quickly turned the water on in the tub, and walked to my room. I grabbed a piece of paper from my desk and a pen and scribbled:
Dear Mom,

Thanks for ruining my life. I am glad I do not have to put up with your daily abuse. You caused me to do this, and I can honestly say I hate you, and you deserve the guilt that should engulf you with the pain that you made your daughter commit suicide. But knowing you, you won’t care. Do not bother with a fake sob story. Bye forever ‘mom’

I walked to the bathroom, letter in hand, and looked through the mirror at the familiar stranger that was staring back at me. Could it be possible that I could look so much like my mom but act so much different? What would dad say if he could see what mom has done to me? I looked up and down taking in all the bruises and scars that covered my entire body, knowing that from this day on their will be no more. I lay the note on the counter, imagining the expression that will come upon my mom’s face when she reads the note and finds my lifeless body in the tub. It brings me happiness; for once she is about to get what she deserves.

I step into the warm water, not bothering to get undressed. I lay there, thinking, the lasts thoughts I will ever think. Why has my mom kept me all this time, if she has told me time and time again that she hates me? Is it because she wants someone to wait on her every need? Or simply because I am the last part of dad she has? But one thing that I never understood, just because my dad left why would she start abusing me? Why did that affect her so much? Did she love my dad before he left? Does she still? If so why did she drive him a way? There were so many question I had, and all of which I would never get an answer to. Before I could change my mind, I plunge my head deep under the water. I feel the water fill my mouth and nose. I fight the struggle that my body is putting forth and keep myself under. I can feel my heart slow, and the last thing that goes through my mind is I love her even though she doesn’t love me. Then there is darkness.

The author's comments:
my friends have experienced a life of abuse since her dad left at a young age, and she couldn't take it any more. The emotion i get inside of me when i hear about stuff like abusive parents or rape is too strong, and personally knowing people that go through this and act all happy just breaks my heart. so i wort a short realistic fiction in honor of those who have abusive parents. i hope it brings you the same immense feelings it brought me...

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!