I used to pray at night that my father and mother would divorce. I was only 5.
I used to pray and sob for hours on end, so if my mom were to die, she would be an angel and be with God. I was 6.
That year, she was admitted to a hospital three hours away for two months. She had tubes down her throat and was barely alive.
I used to look at the girls passing by my desk. They whispered under their breath that I was fat, so I starved. I was only 7.
I would run home at full speed, fearing that he would get me and get what he desired. He was 10; I was 8.
I would sob in my closet with a box cutter to my neck, threatening my family that I would do it if they didn’t accept me being trans and bi. I was 9.
I would open Discord, wear makeup, and message 50-year-old men for validation. I was 10.
I would stay awake until the early hours of the morning, trying to hit a vein. I was 11.
I would come home with hickeys covering my body, and all my dad said was to control myself. He smoked until the sun rose. I was 12.
I awoke at midnight to hear my dad sit down. He told me my mom had died. She was alone. I saw her lifeless body. I was 13.
I would sit still and alone. I was an inpatient at the psych ward, awaiting my discharge. I was 14.
Sob story core. ;-;
