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This is untitled. Only because I did this for therapy. To let go of the thoughts I kept bottled up inside. But, this is to share with others. Please, no harmful or abusive comments.

This isn’t going to rhyme. Neither is it going to sound grammatically correct. But, I’d rather let it out by expressing my thoughts instead of the thought to finish my story with a rope or a knife. I feel like I am alone, yes. Only because I allow myself to be alone. I allow myself to shun those who said they love me and those who want to be there for me. Although, I don’t believe them. “I love you.” makes me question whether or not its genuine. Only because when my own father told me “I love you” it was never genuine when his words affected my heart to crack. Those words that affected me from the time I transitioned into middle school until now getting ready to face the real world. But, I am not ready. Maybe physically, but not emotionally. I’m not prepared for my heart to keep shrinking and falling like shattered glass. I’d figured my heart wasn’t built for this life. For many times, I let people come in to snap, step even spit on it. Others, they were genuine. But, I was too dark to realize that they really do care about my genuine soul and that I am allowing myself to push people and their kind feelings away. I feel like I don’t need to open to anyone. Why? All I am going to bring up is how fucked up my dad is. But, how is that going to change anything? Would they even care? Would they even feel sympathy or look at me like I am a pathetic p***y a*s n***a that should just man up and get over it. But, is it true? Am I a p***y n***a? That’s what my own father, the man I loved once with a happy heart said “I love you Kari. But, you a p***y!” Verbal abuse hurts, it makes you consume the thought that the words people call you is what you really are. It can make you change into something you never was prepared to plan to be in the future. It is like you died. Attending your own funeral watching your body go down. You cry because you wish now you would’ve done something back then. But, you can’t and now you are stuck with a broken heart. Every time you get hurt, you have to bury your happy soul until you fully develop into a monster. This monster is what you were afraid of at five years old. The same monster that you saw creeping in your closet playing with your toys. You are now that monster. So, you cry about it because you regret letting yourself get to this point and now there is nothing you can do. It’s not like no one will understand you. It’s hard to explain yourself with a learning disability that your own father thinks is a bullshit excuse and calls you a “dumb a*s.” But, like I said before. This wasn’t planned nor edited. I wrote this drunk and edited sober. I’d rather let go of my thoughts instead of letting it control me to ending my story so early at eighteen years old.

© 2015 Jakari Barnette

Author's Note

Please no harmful or abusive comments, What do you think of this, Any good advice to give is nice as well

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John Elridge Medlin

Its a good thing you wrote this. Writing is therapy. Considering the circumstances I would say this is good. Its so raw. Emotional. I like that about it. It reminds me of the writing of "Night". Im glad you have decided to hold on and I will be praying for you! I can understand depression, I gave it myself. There are times where you may be surrounded by people but you still feel alone. I could feel that in your words. Just know that you arent alone. And maybe you posting this on here will help someone else in the same situation know that they are not alone either. keep writing bub. I look forward to reading more from you.