This is the second time this year. The last book she gave me was called Bastard Out of Carolina. The little girl gets beaten and raped by her stepfather. The mother doesn't do anything and eventually chooses her husband over her twelve year old daughter. I told my mom it was disgusting, that the mom was horrible. She defended the mother's actions so furiously that I figure she must have been defending herself. She does things like this, indirectly addressing issues because she doesn't know how to do it any other way. She ignored my father hitting me. She ignored me starving and throwing up meals. She ignored my school counselors telling her to find me psychiatric help. She ignored me sneaking out at 12, meeting older men, cutting myself and smashing mirrors on my head and burning my stomach with matches she gave me and trying to kill myself and drinking all the vodka and sneaking pills. She ignored me asking for help this year. But she must be reading my texts or the little journal I hid inside a paint box in my room because she found out about my girlfriend and now I'm not allowed to spend the night with her as long as I live in this house. One person in the world knows that I was abused, but she doesn't know by how many people and how many times and how I sometimes want it to happen again and how I can't have sex now and how I'm scared my body is ruined and I can't have children. I want to tell someone but I can barely admit it to myself. Today my mother gave me another book about being raped. It's called the Incest Diaries and she made me download it on my phone. She said it upset her but I should read it. I don't know why she'd want me to if she didn't know somehow. I feel sick reading it, it's really really graphic. I used to (and sometimes still do) read things like this online when I want to feel disgusting. I didn't want to feel disgusting today but now I do. It makes me want to kill myself how much I relate to this story. The writer is anonymous. Maybe I should write my story anonymously. Publish it online and suggest my mother read it. I wonder if she'd realize it's me. The girl in this story says her mother saw all the blood. That her mother wanted a daughter but didn't want her as her daughter. That she doesn't want to be a mother. I understand that. I feel like my mother doesn't love me the way she loves my brothers and sisters. I was the first, I was the mistake she made when she was seventeen. I made her stay with my abusive father for years, I trapped her. I ruined her life. I ruined his life. She wishes she had an abortion like my father told her to. My dad wasn't there for a while after I was born. I think maybe he loved me after he saw I had white skin like him instead of my moms skin. But he says I look like her. I wonder if I was his replacement. He says he owns me because he made me. I can never get away, he said he'd follow me anywhere. 

My girlfriend got drunk last week and said she wishes I wasn't sick and that she wishes she could help me. She says she wishes she didn't love me. I wish she didn't either. It would make it a lot easier to kill myself. A few weeks before, she got drunk and tried to fuck me. She thought I didn't like it because I didn't move when she touched me. I couldn't tell her that I'm trained not to. It felt good but my body was a million miles away and I couldn't wait for it to end. I feel broken. I can't give her what she needs, she deserves better than me. She also said she wishes she went through what I went through so that her pain made sense, but it really disgusted me. I know she doesn't know everything, but she knows enough to not say that. Sometimes she makes me really sick and I hate her for what she says when she's drunk but I still love her like I've never loved anybody else. Next weekend she goes up to her dorm, three hours away up in the mountains. I won't see her very much until i go up too after I finish my community college classes. I know I'll miss her but I'm a little glad she's going because I can cut again and she won't know. I don't have to be pretty for her anymore. I don't wanna be pretty, I don't wanna be the most beautiful girl she's ever seen and I don't wanna be the love of her life. I don't want to be wanted, but I also want to be the most wanted in the world. I simultaneously want to be dirt and God. I want to be everything and nothing and it's tearing me apart. 

I wish my mom loved me the way my dad did. Even if he loves me the wrong way, I know that it's because somebody loved him the wrong ways and he thinks that's what love has to be. His new wife is pregnant and I prayed for the first time since I stopped believing in God that it wasn't a girl. Whoever the fuck is listening (or I guess it's just luck) must've heard because it's gonna be a boy. I'm so happy it's a boy but I still don't want to love it. I'm too tired to love it. I know it'll end up like my dad and my brother. There's no other way for men to be, I think. I thought I needed to protect my brother, that's why I keep going to see my dad and spending the night, but a few weeks ago my brother held me down and kicked me. My dad watched from the couch and encouraged him. I asked him to stop him. It felt like it went on for thirty minutes, him kicking me and putting a blanket over my head and pinning me down. It was so fucking scary, more scary than when my dad does it because he's just a little boy. He's only fifteen, I'm supposed to protect him and make sure he doesn't end up this way. I didn't expect him to do that. It scared me so much. I wish I could tell my mom. After he stopped, my dad apologized for letting it happen by giving me a half a xanax. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating in hatred. I wish I didn't hate myself this much because I consciously know that I don't deserve this. That it wasn't my fault, even if I thought I was a woman. I looked at a picture of myself from about six years ago, maybe seven. I looked so little, like a baby. Twelve years old and I thought I was a woman. I thought I was asking for everything that happened to me. It makes me sick to realize whats wrong with my head. I know it's a survival mechanism, but it's disgusting. I hate it I hate myself. My dad hasn't laid a hand on me in a really long time, not since he said I was getting fat. I know I'm not really that big, I can see myself in pictures and I know I look normal but when I look in the mirror and down at my body I feel enormous. I feel disgusting and rejected, and disgusting for feeling rejected. Anyways, last weekend my dad made me cuddle him and I felt like dying for the rest of the weekend. I still feel like dying. When I tried to go to sleep I had an auditory hallucination that made me throw up in my hand. I want to die so fucking bad I wish nobody loved me or said they loved me and I wish nobody would martyr me if I really did do it. I wish I wasn't so scared of my baby sister missing me and ending up just like me. I wish I wasn't scared of hurting her like I was hurt, even if I know I wouldn't. It's like this invasive thought every time I'm with my baby brother and sister (4 and 2 years old) that I'm gonna hurt them. Maybe not me directly but I think about them getting hurt. When I hold my sister I think, what if I dropped her right now? What if I hit her head so hard she died? What if somebody hurt her body the way I got hurt? Someday she's gonna have to get hurt, everybody gets hurt this way? It makes me nauseous to think about and I almost start crying. That's why I know I would never do something like that. I read that the difference between intrusive thoughts and impulsive ones is that intrusive one's would not give you any pleasure or gratification. They're residual thoughts that are your brains way of making sense of what happened to you. I know I'd never hurt them, sometimes I hold my sister and cry because I love her so much I'd die for her in a fucking second. Her life is worth so much more than mine, the only thing I can think of living for is to make sure no one ever hurts her. I want to be her mother instead of my mom. She doesn't deserve my mother. I feel like I could take better care of her. I wouldn't give her books about graphic pedophilic rape and then justify the actions of an emotionally vacant mother afterwards. I'd kill someone for touching her. I'd go to jail knowing she was forever safe from whoever hurt her. She wouldn't have to wake up with hands under her sheets and whispering voices in her head and she wouldn't piss her bed for eight years or have night terrors or lock the shower door even when no one's home. I don't want her to ever know what it's like.

I'm sorry if this is gross to read I just need it out of my body. I need to know someone understands.

