Life is no fairytale, just ask Saige. Kicked out with only her guitar and her daughter, she's given the greatest opportunity, but with every good thing; there's always a catch.
They said God will never give you more than you take, but what if that was complete bullshit? I had spent all my life hoping and satisfying myself that God would provide an escape route for me someway, somehow. That this pain I was put through would not last very long, and maybe there was a future for me. I believed that it didn’t matter if my father died without me ever knowing him, because we’d meet one day in heaven. I believed that no matter how angry my mother got at me, she loved me deep down. I believed that deep down no matter what anyone thought of me, they were all jealous, because I was myself and unique. That one day they’d be sorry for ever making fun of me and that they’d beg me to be their friend while I would have the satisfaction of rejecting them, just like they rejected me.
I also believed this when I was 9 years old.
That philosophy that I carried was just a façade to cover up the pain, and I realized that now. I lived my life through a fantasy world so the real one couldn’t take my sanity and pride. I believed a rainbow would always appear after the darkest and heaviest storm. I imagined myself to be a princess or mermaid in search of the world’s greatest treasures, and that no one would ever find them except me.
But when you grow up, you realize life is no fairytale. There’s no fairy Godmother to save the night, my pumpkin never turned into a carriage, and I sure as hell didn’t find my prince charming. It was only when that night had struck, my fantasy world had been shot down. I no longer hid myself from my terrors, my terrors had captured me. My mission to protect myself had failed.
My innocence, the only thing I had ever truly possessed had been ripped out of my hands so quickly, I fell from the impact. The pain could not compare to what I had been through. The bruises, the welts, the loud smacking sound of my mother’s hand could not measure up to the event of your state of mind and your body being brutally assaulted with no apology whatsoever. It could never measure up to the sick and twisted movements that defiled you, while the person responsible would only laugh at your pain. The more you struggled, the more he became satisfied. And for what?
That when he was done ruining you, he left you to rot like a broken toy? Thrilled that your common sense would be destroyed and you would knowing nothing more than misery and pain, because you were indeed broken.
This became my new philosophy as I had deemed myself damaged goods and ruined. No one would ever want me if they knew what had happened to me, they would even blame me for it. Take a good look at me and smirk, saying I deserved what I got. It was only natural that I had completely shut down. I had no one left but myself. I was own best friend for as long as I could remember. It had gone on for so long, I no longer longed for someone else’s companionship, I was content with being alone.
But I did still believe one thing. That maybe, just maybe; good things had come out of fucked up situations. It was very small hope, but it had come true. I had learned this when I was forced to bring another life into this world, taking care of another human being when I couldn’t even take care of myself.
My rape had forced me to carry a new title, mother. My body and mind had forced me to carry a demon’s child inside me because I didn’t have the guts to get rid of it. I could’ve done a lot of things and even planned adoption, but it was not as simple as you might think it would be. Because you see, until you’re in my shoes you will never understand what is like to carry your rapist’s baby. That it might seem like the most brutal torture in the world, and constantly a reminder of what you’ve endured. And if I had known this earlier, I probably would’ve killed myself by now, had it not been for the tiny miracle that saved me.
My newfound daughter had saved my life and she didn’t even know it. She didn’t know what she was here for, but I did. I had denied she was mine while she grew inside me, but I could not find the heart to just get rid of her. Because I understood she had her own feelings and it wasn’t her fault for what happened. I would be no better than my rapist if I had ruined someone else’s life. Especially if I hadn’t known just how much my daughter would change my life for the better.
I have never loved something so much like I love her. Because perhaps she had become my new fantasy, my new pretender that my world was perfect; and when I had her around, it was. She taught me that love did exist, it didn’t matter where it came from as long as you held onto it. I began to imagine that as long as I had her, my security, I was fine.
But even love was not enough to save me from reality. Love didn’t help me to survive solely on myself. It didn’t protect me from my mom or others around me. I was still alone with only a child, and only that child would love me no matter who I was.
A reason why I couldn’t do this to her anymore. Watching her from the corner of my eye, she hides behind the hallway wall and shakes in fear from the yelling of my mother’s voice that echoes off the walls. The shouts, the alcohol lodged in her system as she tries to hit me while I dodge her hand, only making her madder. It was a common event for a simple question to turn into such a fight.
“Get out!” she yells at me as I look at her in shock. The tone in her voice does not hold hint at any humor. She wasn’t kidding when she kept yelling for me to leave while I begged her to let me stay. Did she not realize I had no where to go? Did she not realize she had a child to think about? But then I remembered she stopped caring about anything since my dad died. Even though I tried to be a good child, even finished school early, she would not accept for me who I was. And who I was, I was my father’s child. My father’s child who only held nothing but shame and disappointment, bored a child out of evil, at least that’s what she told me. But I knew better, my daughter was not evil.
So after many threats that my child did not deserve to see, I had no choice but to obey her orders. I ran upstairs, Emilea in my arms as she cried silently. I set her down on my bed and kissed her head to console her.
“We’re leaving. For good.” I told her as I put all my clothes and Lea’s clothes in two large bags with other accessories. With only a low income, and not much support from your drunken mother, you tend to not have many material things. I looked in the corner and felt tears immediately crash down as I grabbed my father’s guitar from the wall and held it in my hands. I didn’t know or remember much about my father, but my mother once told me he was a music lover. If I had to guess, I’d day inherited that trait from him.
“Daddy.” I whisper at the only thing left of him as I sigh and pack it into it’s case and throw it on the bed. I grabbed all my bags and my guitar and slung it around my shoulder while grabbing Emilea’s jacket and putting it on her.
“Come on baby.” I whispered as she crawled back into my arms and nestled into my neck as if trying to hide herself from the dangerous territory that surrounded us. I walked down stairs and my mom watched me with drunken eyes that were still filled with regret and hate. I’d also like to think that the way she looks at me like that was because she was really mad at herself. She had failed me, just like I had failed her.
“Goodbye mom.” I told her before walking out of my house forever while trying to believe that love would show me the way, but it didn’t. But love wasn’t there to save me, love only led me to my childhood park while I collapsed on a bench and put my head in my hands, sobbing harder than I’ve ever had before. The realization that you’re fully alone with no place to stay. I prayed and prayed that maybe my family lived by me, an aunt or uncle even, but I thought of no one. When my dad passed, my mom had shut out our family, keeping them from me as I gritted my teeth in anger.
I wanted nothing more then to blame her. Blame her for not loving me, blame her for kicking me put and never appreciating a single thing I did for her. But blaming her would not ease my situation or change it.
In school, they teach you and prepare you for college and finding a good job, but they don’t prepare you the real world. They don’t tell you what do if you’re kicked out by your parents. How to handle the emotional trauma after a rape, and how to take of the child you decided to keep after it.
It was that moment when I first wondered why God hated me so much. Was I really that bad of a person?
“Mommy pwease don’t cry.” Emilea whispered to me as I looked up and right into her eyes, my eyes. Brown eyes that held broken hope, but still containing gentleness. I half smiled and pulled her into my arms and lap, holding onto her tightly while burying my face into her soft honey hair.
“I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry.” I whispered back as I rocked her. My life may have been ruined or not fixable, but she made it possible. While I held her and felt her heart beating against mine, I knew I had something else to live for.
“I promise I’m going to take care of us, no matter what okay?” I asked her as she nodded.
“Okay.” she replied softly as I smiled through my tears and kissed her. Because of her, I had something to still be thankful for. And unlike my mother,
I refused to fail her…