Splash, drip, drip, splash. I gazed out the window as the wind played with the raindrops guiding them side to side. It seemed as though it was taking their short journey so long. The raindrops acted as if they were snow swirling around in the air oblivious to their surroundings bumping into other raindrops on the way down causing problems. Regular raindrops took off from the sky and had a straight journey down to do their job of watering a garden or falling into a gutter to make it look useful. Yet these raindrops ignored who they really were and pretended they were something they’re not. A lot like the people around me.


The trees swished back and forth swaying with the wind. I imagined I was those trees. In fact, I was. Getting pushed around without being able to do anything back. They treated me like I didn’t think. She would shove me around into a wall until it hurt so bad I couldn’t fight back or think. He would just sit there and watch her abuse me drinking all his problems away, even though the problems always came back. Sometimes he would even join in. I don’t know what to do. I have no feelings. I have learned not to cry but to suck it up and stick it out through all the pain and agony. Tears are just a sign of weakness.


I liked it when it was normal. Like the saying goes, “the good old days”. Except my “good old days” were my okay days. The days I didn’t cry or wasn’t abused. The days when my Dad would play catch with me out in the yard and hit me baseballs with his wooden bat to see if I could catch them. Now the bat was just another good memory sitting in the yard that was going to be a bad memory. Those days made me the numb, ignorant girl I am today. We have all lost total respect for each other. They now just refer to me as the girl. I have no name anymore.

It all happened so fast when my Grandmother died from brain cancer. Mom went mentally crazy. Everything in her life meant nothing anymore. She was so close to her mom. Every decision she made depended on what her mom thought. It was bound to happen, just not like this. Instead of getting over it after a couple months, she got depressed and did nothing. Nobody knew what to do. She pushed me away and pretended I wasn’t around anymore. Dad started getting really mad at Mom for not doing anything. He started drinking and abusing Mom and I. Soon, she started taking out her anger on me. Not just in words, physically. He would leave in the afternoon everyday and not come back till 1:00 in the morning wasted. I adjusted to my new life learning how to do everything on my own. Being twelve, I take care of my demented family by driving to the supermarket weekly to pick up food with the money I have either stolen from my parents or earned by doing odd jobs for my neighbor. There is no pain anymore. Everybody just goes through the motions. On most week days I go to school if I’m not supporting my family. I feel sick calling them my family. Families are supposed to love and care for each other. At least that is what I believe.

I walk to school most mornings to avoid the humiliation from the kids on the bus. They make fun of my life, my house, and my numb parents. It was to much to handle. It is only a two mile walk to my school from where I live. School is like my sanctuary. I get mostly good grades and am passing all my classes. If I told them about my problems they would never treat me the same. They would baby me and give me special treatment and I don’t want that. School is where I express my ideas, I have no social life though. Most kids in my grade know about me. They act like their lives are perfect. They spend all their money on clothes and phones to socialize. As I walk through the halls they avoid me going off to the side like I am going to hurt them. At least at school I don’t have to deal with Mom and Dad.

As I walked home one day from school, I was honked at by a group of teenagers in a car. They jokingly called out “loser” and cursed at me as they drove by. I continued walking to my house. There was screaming and yelling coming from my rundown mobile home of a house. Slowly I walked through the tall, itchy grass that was supposed to be the front lawn. From the house there was a loud sound of breaking glass. Oh no, they’re at it again. My legs gradually got faster until I was at a full blown sprint. My heart was violently beating out of my chest. My hand found the door and I ran towards the yelling. What I saw would stay with me for the rest of my life. Dad’s giant, broad-shouldered figure was towering overing Mom’s small body in the corner. He clenched a wooden bat between his hands raising it over his head. Sweat drops streamed off his tight face muscles. He ground his teeth fiercely. I stood there watching not knowing what to do. I guess I am stupid and have no brain. Worth nothing. What could I do? He started hitting her defenseless body as she screamed and uncontrollably cried trying to protect herself. Next thing I know I’m grabbing my Dad and throwing him down. He was to strong. I was effortlessly thrown into the wall beside him. I started crying for the first time in a year. In the time it took him to throw me into the wall Mom had gotten to away into her room and locked the door shut. My vision slowly faded as I blacked out.


Pain spread over me like a wildfire as I tried to sit up from the floor. How long had it been? Two, three days on the floor blacked out. My stomach groaned as my feeble body attempted to sit up. At first my vision was fuzzy, but then it slowly became clearer. Dad was passed out on the couch with the baseball bat still tight in the grasp of his hands. He must have been really drunk. After countless attempts to stand up I crawled over to the kitchen hoping to find leftover food. I reached into drawers poking around for anything. Ah ha, an open box of store brand cheerios laid in my grasp. Shaking, my hand found its way to the box and started forcing food into my mouth until I was full.

The next few days at school were torture. All my teachers were asking why I had bruises on my arms and legs and why I was gone for three days. The guidance counselor had repeatedly tried to help. Every time I was called in there I was interrogated by the principal and guidance counselor. What was I supposed to say? My Dad grabbed me and threw me into a wall? My parents fought constantly and I was taking care of them? School was now just like my home now. Another place I didn’t want to be. Life was starting to get more and more pointless as the days went on. Gradually I started missing more and more days of school until I stopped going. My parents hadn’t talked to me since the “accident” which I was greatly thankful for. I would go days without food if there was no money. I missed the free lunch I got at school, but that was the price I paid.

I realized this wasn’t going to get any better. No miracle was going to make Mom, Dad and I a happy family again. I wasn’t going to get any smarter. I was just an obstacle in other peoples’ lives. Nobody loved or cared for me. What I did seemed reasonable at the time.

One cold winter night, I drove to the store. When I got there, I didn’t buy anything. I left empty handed in my parents old dented car and drove in the opposite direction of home. I knew where to go to do this. Down a twisty narrow road with all sorts of trees just a little ways longer. Forest trees surrounded both sides of the road. No chance I would miss one. Drowning probably would have been a longer but more peaceful death, but this seemed quicker. I closed my eyes letting the wheel go of the wheel but keeping my foot on the gas pedal. In my head I counted to ten with each second pressing harder down on the gas pedal.1.....2.........3...............4....................5.....................6...........................7................................8......................................9. I could slowly hear my old parents say “Bye Amanda”.


I was saved. A nice couple was driving by and saw my crashed car. They rushed out to see if I was alright. I was unconscious, but still breathing. They took me to the hospital into the intensive care unit. I would’ve died if it weren’t for them. They were so nice. They cared about me and I didn’t even know them. I died that day. I killed the life that I hated, but was given a new one in return. The people who saved me adopted me. They stayed with me in the hospital until I was better. When they found about the life I lived they felt bad. Since, they were married and around their forties and childless, they adopted me. I was taken under their wing.

Ever since then I have been doing so much better. I switched schools. They love and care for me everyday. I have something to live for now. My school, family, and my great friends. If I died that day I would have never succeeded in life. I am now eighteen and have a well paying job in a good neighborhood. I still live with the couple that saved me. I have learned to live my life to the fullest. Don’t give up on yourself. Your life may be the only one you get.