Tattletale

The month after the molestation, I told my parents. 

Imagine being six years old, and telling your parents you were molested by your cousin? It was horrible. My mom started crying, not stopping for another four days. My father drank the pain away, and beat Cara and himself up. As soon as I told them, my parents called Jared's parents and told them what had happened, and my dad threatened to kill him. I'm surprised he didn't; it seemed like my dad was the only one allowed to beat or hurt us in anyway. I don't mean my dad ever molested us, I mean hurt as in emotional. And this incident was definitely very emotional on me. 

Very soon, the rest of the family found out, and were upset. Mason and B were too young to understand, so they didn't. They went on with their little child games, as usual. Sooner or later, the whole family would too. That was just how it happened in our family; s**t happened, we all got upset, and then the next week we all got over it. We weren't the type of family to dwell on things, even though somethings needed to be brought up over and over again. 

For me, life didn't get easier anymore. When I was 9, I was diagnosed with leukemia. I was in the hospital for which seemed like an eternity. My mother cried, my sisters cried, and I think I even heard my dad cry once or twice. What might seem sick to someone is that I wanted to die. I felt useless. Before I was diagnosed, I saw my father beat my mother. Every night I would pray, pray to God or whoever was out their to let my parents get a divorce. I loved my mom; she was my best friend, my everything. I had wished sometimes I could be the one to kill my dad. I couldn't stand to watch her hit her ever again. Luckily, he never did. He moved on from Cara to Sophia and Madeline. Sometimes, I even got a beating, but not as bad as they did. That happened when they moved out; B and I got the worst of it. I felt like I had the worst life, or did I only make it out to be this? Maybe I was just very unlucky. 

Anyways, I was finally 99% cancer free when I was 12. I wasn't over-joyed though. I went back to school and was bullied for barely having any hair. The doctor told us that my hair would hopefully grow back now, but until then I was still bald. I came home crying everyday, I was always teased for being that "chubby bald girl." I wanted to die more than ever; still praying every night that God would decide it was my time. When that ended, I soon started to have a huge hatred for God. I never went to church anyways, just a regular "Catholic" family. I finally got a wig, but mostly everyone knew that I was still bald. It's felt like I was being pushed to an edge. I wanted to achieve perfect, was it really that hard? 

I decided since I couldn't make my hair grow back, I would focus on losing weight. How were models and other, truly beautiful woman thin? Almost everyone knew the answer, or so I thought. I was so absent-minded that I only thought there was one way; to starve and puke. So that I did, I would only eat breakfast and then I would proceed to puke it all up. I had a strong attraction to the bathroom then.