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by Jennifer Hartmann

Father didn’t love me; Mom didn’t love me enough.

I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.

I couldn’t put my fractured family back together.

Bad day. Bad night. Bad life.

Maybe they’re the one who’s lost and they’re waiting for you to find them.”

“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”

But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

Sometimes I was jealous that Mom was able to float away from it all so easily. I bet she spent most of her life in a dreamworld, while I was forced to live in this one.

I didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, as I locked eyes with my disgusting sperm donor who’d had the audacity to bring me into a world so ruthless and soul-draining.

I was numb. Deadened by dysfunction and never-ending abuse. I wanted to run away, disappear, jump off a goddamn bridge and let the water have its way with me.

“You raised me on a diet of beatings and cruelty.

They didn’t need the extra burden of me and my abusive home life landing on their doorstep.

Didn’t love me enough. Had no desire to fight for me.

I wasn’t used to feeling worthy or appreciated; I was used to feeling like the opposite. A burden, a nuisance, a strain.

the psychological ramifications of an abusive household,”

Panic attacks were no joke. It had felt like I was dying, suffocating, drowning. For a moment, I’d wanted to.

It was his steadfast belief in me that blanketed me in the truest sense of sanctuary.

my mother didn’t deserve me. She wasn’t worthy of my love.

I’m here because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”