Warm morning showers now brought shivers down my spine. Showers that now took hours. The heavy pitter-patter, my pathetic attempt to shut out the voice of my screaming parents. Screaming piercing words that have penetrated my once sweet daydreams. I no longer dream. I’ve forgotten how to dream in the daytime. I’ve forgotten the way I used to speak of hope, of faith and moving mountains. Now I stand under hot water till thick steam swirls around me. I derive some sort of joy from the foggy mirrors, all blurry and bleak like my reality. Today nothing was certain; I would slowly count my assets or lack of it. No money. No reasonable job. Migraines. Screaming parents with my future in their palms. 

How I longed for escape. My newly aggressive inner voice continually screamed, “at least death will be more peaceful”

3 years later I would crave the madness and emptiness of my childhood home. I would compare the emptiness with peace and the madness with spontaneity. I would have written a best seller and landed the job of my dreams. I would still soak my self in a bath every evening and count assets. I still didn’t know how happiness felt. My grieving divorced mother. My newly remarried, male chauvinist father. Emptiness.



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