My father remarried after my parents got a divorce. The thing is though, he married a witch. She physically and emotionally abused my two siblings and I. Her hatred for me was unbearable. She made me complete chores all day long, then would lock me up in my room and party downstairs, and then make me clean up. I grew a strong hate for her, but knew hating her would get me nowhere. Her awful words directed towards me made me want to run away and die in the cold frigid air. By the way, did I mention I was in first grade? As a first grader, living with this witch made me grow cold and dark inside. Days when my father and the step monster would fight, he would take us and leave for a few hours, best few hours of my life. I finally got to escape her clutch. On the weekends we would go to our mothers, who’s boyfriend was abusive too. One time he grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go until I couldn’t feel the circulation in it any more. He let go only to realize what he had done. My mother took the blame for his actions. Anyway, every Sunday when my mother would drop us off at the witches home, we would sit in the car and ball the entire way there. My only safe place from abuse was school. No kids knew what my life was like.. No one knew the secret life I was living behind my smile. I hated leaving school because then I’d go home, do my chores countless times, do homework, sit at the dining room table for hours unable to move unless instructed to do so, then take a shower and go to sleep locked up while they all parties downstairs. My room was huge, in some houses, the master. My sister and I shared. It was big enough to store chests upon chests full of toys and books. We had a bunk bed and two dressers in it. All of the toys we got for Christmas and birthdays (which weren’t from her) were all taken away and thrown out. I would cry myself to sleep as I wished I would die and be with Jesus. The only thing that truly kept me alive was my siblings. I couldn’t die and let them be let in her hands like I was. The day I planned to run away and die in the blizzard raging on outside my bedroom window, my sister ran away instead. To this day, she doesn’t believe I was going to, but the truth is, I had the letter telling her I hated everything she’d done to me ready to go. I had my backpack packed of fruit snacks and Swedish fish I stole from the forbidden snack drawer. One day, they were going at it again fighting. But this time was different. He piled us into the car and drove off with us. He dropped us off at our grandmothers house and said he’d be back soon. I haven’t seen my father in years.. I’ve learned to take out my anger on cleaning, but I haven’t forgiven them for hurting my so badly… Today is two days from my gotcha day with my grandmother and I oddly want to talk to him and tell him how badly he hurt me. I want to talk to my stepmother and forgive her for abusing me to the point where I wanted to die as first grader little girl. I know that she controls him and I’ll never know my true father again, but I just wanted to share my story. I know it may seem like I’m a dark person, but I am as bright as the sun and I am the most positive person many people have ever met that’s gone through the crap I’ve been through. I am living a life of happiness right now and I hope one day to love my kids as my parents have never done to me. this is my story.
When writing your story, please use correct spelling and grammar. Please use a capital I rather than a lower i, and use apostrophes correctly. Such as I'm, don't, can't.