Why?

Sometimes I wonder why this life was chosen for me, why my set of circumstances, why the reality of each morning I face.  I try to think logically - well I make my own choices, isn't that what God gave us all, a choice? But the harsh truth of it is that no one controls the outcomes, that is where I have failed.  The most anyone can hope to do is to increase the odds of success in our favor.

What is buried deep inside is a hurt child, unable to make herself small enough to disappear.  For those of you have at one time or another, heard their parents fight when they were young.  If you were lucky enough your parents fought after they believed you were sleeping.  And there you would lay, listening to their words, as you held your head on your blankets, praying that you wouldn't be caught listening, praying that they would stop.

I spent most of my life with my head under my covers.  The most horrible things I would hear them say, and I wish I could shut so many of those words out.  My stepfather was the worst of them all.  Again - they always believed that I was sleeping, but I heard way too much.  I heard that I was a slut and a whore, and should probably start "serving men" to start paying the bills.  (let's just say servicing men was not the term that was used).  How I was a manipulative B^tch and how my mother better take care of me, give me a good whooping or he would.

I was about 13.

I recall some of my offenses, not taking dinner out of the freezer for the 100th time, coming in the house to see my stepfather passed out with his penis in full view, oh yes the time when I came home 20 minutes passed my curfew.  (I believe that was one of the times  I was told I was a whore).  I stayed a virgin for a very long time, terrified to have sex, and I never wanted to be one.

This is the first time, I have ever spoke of these events.   I don't know if I feel better, but I can say, that this is not the worst of my memories. (close but not the worst).

So yes, I spent much time, hiding under the covers, hoping that my mom would stick up for me, hoping that they wouldn't come in and yank me out of bed, or wouldn't make up some crazy punishment to enforce on me the next day.  Usually something to humiliate me.  It was nights like these that I prayed God would take my breathe....and I always wondered, why me?