Abygail

Today and yesterday, and the day before, and probably tomorrow, are the reason I hated my younger teenage years. I thought I had outgrown it. I thought that my mom wasn't struggling anymore. I thought my sister didn't hate the world. I thought the darkness that ran through my veins all those years ago was gone. I was wrong. I can look into my mother's eyes and see a stranger. She is not the same person that raised me. I look at my sister and don't even recognize who she has become. She's quiet and secluded. She doesn't stand outside my door anymore and ask to do crafts. I look in the mirror and I see myself, or maybe my mind is just playing tricks on me. I didn't miss the pain I felt all those years ago. I surely didn't ask for it. I suppose not everyone can always be happy all the time. It sounds a lot nicer than how I feel right now though. 06/07/2018

I hate when you think things are going good and turns out they aren't. I thought my first day in apparel went great but obviously not. I tried my best. I was trying to take in everything. I didn't want to blow through anything because I didn't want to do anything wrong. I even asked questions and I never do that. It's so infuriating that someone would say something about my work ethic. They know nothing about me. NOTHING. I've literally been around this group of people for less than 12 hours and they think they know everything about me. They said my work ethic was bad and I didn't do anything but stand around and that I won't last long. That's a fucking load. I want to cry. I've had shit thoughts all day. Thoughts of cutting and watching as the blood runs down my thighs. The slight sting of the cut. Damn, I want to fucking cry. I hate that the receptors in my nervous system don't properly intake the serotonin that is released. I hate it so muc

On the night of December 5th, 2009, I cried in my mother's arms as I repeatedly said: “it’s not fair,”. To this day I still find it unfair. He was my dad. He is my dad. He was taken from me. God stole him from me before he even had the chance to see me grow. All day I have felt as if someone has been standing over my shoulder and I can’t help but think it's him and it hurts. It all hurts. I keep looking over my shoulder. I didn’t even think about the date until today. I was just going on with my day then all the sudden I realized it was December 4th and it hit me. Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow marks eight years. I thought about it a little on the 3rd, but I felt nothing. Today I felt it. The unfairness. I know God has a plan and I know he only gives us tasks we can handle but this task is painful. It’s gut-wrenching. It hurts on a whole new level. I want my dad. I really want my dad. I miss him so much. It hurts. And it’s not fucking fair. // Originally wr

Because death and pain can send you on a long, windy path. Do you think he knows? Do you think he knows about the letters I’ve written? About the tears, I’ve cried? The places I’ve wanted to go to? The places I’ve been in and at? Do you think he can see me? Do you think I’ll know before I die one day? Does he know how much I’ve slacked? How much I’ve hurt? The hell I’ve put myself and others through? The terrible ways I treat mom and sister sometimes? Sometimes I feel like I get too much. I don’t deserve the greatness in my life sometimes, but then I look around and see kids with new cars and phones and clothes and think ‘why the hell do they deserve that shit?’ Does he know my future? What's in store for me? How far I get? If I succeed? Do you think he will be proud of me? Do you think he is disappointed? // Originally written October 24th, 2015 //

This is a piece I wrote as a part of my senior memoir. On December 5th, 2009, the people of my hometown waited anxiously in the cold on Main Street for the annual Christmas parade. On December 5th, 2009, I stood in my aunt's arms and cried as people wheeled my father’s dead body away. My dad and I had this dance. We would turn up Katy Perry’s “I Kissed A Girl” and we would shake out butts in the kitchen while we cooked dinner. When my sister and I had our YMCA basketball games at the same time, I would have him come to mine, and mom went to Alex’s. My brother and I would walk home from school and he’d come by in the old, white jeep and pick us up. He would sit in the Family Dollar parking lot and spin his tires to bring me joy. He let me drive on his lap on the way to my papaw’s house. He taught me how to mow and weedeat. We sat on the back porch and watched storms together. We built pools together. We would take naps in the same recliner together. He took us to br

I wrote this when I was hurt... and when I had lost, yet another, friend. What I know is this: I know close to nothing. For everything I thought I knew, was a lie. I thought we would be friends forever. I thought that we could always work through anything and everything. I thought that opening myself up this time would be different. That everything would be different. But it wasn’t. Nothing was different and that’s what makes everything so difficult. I thought I was different. I thought that I had changed, but I was wrong. Once again, I fell under the wing of someone who changed me and used me to their needs and then ambushed me. They have made me feel like I am nothing like I am not worthy of life itself. That I could not possibly go further without such pain, such anger. Oh, how I am rageful. Oh, how I am hurt. I am determined not to let it bother me in such ways as last time. I know now that I shall not crawl back and beg for their friendship for they are not wort