Art Of Writing
11 June 2014
Home Is Where the Heart Is
May 24th, 2006. I woke up that day but it was not the same. I was not looking forward to a bright new day, nor was I excited for the events of the day to play out. Every bone in my body was still in tact, but I still felt completely broken. This was the day after my tenth birthday; a day I would never forget. And despite my age and my innocence, I actually had wished, through all the pain, that I wouldn’t wake up that morning. All I knew was that I had some demons to face, and unfortunately, my demon resided in the room next to me; and that was not changing for another three years.
From this day on, I admitted myself into my own form of a prison. I turned my room into my own jail cell, refusing to leave and communicate with the outside world. I spent days on end in my bed that felt like the thin mattress inmates are forced to sleep on. Not even a full course meal would satisfy me; it all tasted the same to me. I could not shut my eyes and sleep to save my life. This was because I couldn’t even sleep. And if I did, my dreams only turned into nightmares. All these nightmares were just a play by play of what I was going through every single night as my innocence was stolen from me. Things didn't stop there, the pain and fear only grew and slowly molded into a spiraling tornado that was consuming my entire life. My daily dose of fear and paranoia grew by increments, slowly but steadily. Some days I couldn’t even grasp myself to take rise and face the
demons of my day. I looked around and saw faces all smiling and happy, and then i looked down into my soul and found a chamber empty of its possessions, stolen. Not only was my innocence stolen from me that night, but my will to go on was far gone. I could not tell my family what was going on. I felt so violated and uncomfortable that I ...
Please join StudyMode to read the full document