Phoenix Warrior

I wear my scars proudly. They are my battle wounds.

People who don’t know me well think I’m the type to make a big deal out of my birthday for superficial reasons but there is a whole meaning behind my celebration every year. I never got my sweet sixteen birthday like most teenagers my birth mom at this point was really changed. She came to me and said on my birthday that she would be gone all day taking my little sister and this child she helped take care of to the park for the day. She was taking them to Funderland which was this tiny amusement park within the big beautiful park William Land this place is a staple of my childhood and I have many fond memories there. She said that she was taking them out on my birthday because they deserve it more than I do and that she would not be celebrating my sixteen birthday at all. Then to make sure I really have a terrible birthday she locked me outside I only had access to the sunroom and back yard. She wanted to make sure I didn’t to try leave so she made me get undressed and give her all my clothes that I was wearing. I just sat there all day crying not believe my own mother would do this to me and treat me so horribly.

Time went on and things got worst especially after we had to move due to losing the house which was my fault of course. She blamed her marriage ending on me and everything else she could think of and acted as if I was just a burden she had to deal with. This other memory is the big one she knew what she was doing wrong so most of the time she would keep me locked up unless she needed her Cinderella to clean or help with my awesome little sister or whatever she demanded and at this time she sometimes would lock me up in the back of the house which was the laundry room area. So she comes home from running errands and comes to the laundry room and says you see this and she is holding a box of black trash bags. I bought these for when I hit you or push you down the stairs or whatever the punishment and if I happen to hit you the wrong way or you lose too much blood and you die these are for you. I will not bury you I will dispose of you like the trash you are, I will chop you up and throw you out. So let these bags be a reminder to you that you better be on your best behavior or I just might hit you with the bat in the wrong place.

After that day she would always tell me that I would never leave that she would make sure I wouldn’t get out of her house alive. She swore all the time that I would not live past my eighteen birthday and if anyone came looking for me she would tell them that I got knocked up and ran away from home. She said of course people would believe that because you’re a whore and a horrible daughter.

I always thought the miracle was me finally leaving that day in December but I later found out from all the doctors that saw me during the police investigation that a lot of the physical trauma I went through I should not have survived as well as being malnourished. So everyday and especially every birthday is a miracle and a celebration to me that I beat her by living!

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