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((I haven't written in a long while, this is my first re-attempt in roughly a year and a half.))
Sometimes, when I think closely about it I find that I truly don't regret a moment of it. The slow process that brought me to this place, this solitude. From the beginning, I knew that this would be the end of it, I knew that at one point I would end up here, I just had no idea when.
I guess it began a long while ago when it started, after seeing my sister the way she was, I could not help but distance myself from the world. I hid behind that sense of comfort. I put myself as far away from that god forsaken house as I could.
The hardest part was trying to look him, my father, in the eye the next morning, and the morning after for every time he lost his temper. My sister always took the worst of it, tried to convince me that everything was going to be okay, that the drinks he took made him like that. She told me that was not who he really was. I was young and naive and I believed her.
The worst part of it all was when she'd had enough. The sister who protected me always left me there, still a young little boy without any savior. It didn't take very long for me to lose hope, what he later told me was because of stress at work was the most difficult thing I'd ever had to endure. That's when I disappeared completely, the quiet boy in the back of the class, the boy spending as long as he could at the park before having to go home, the helpless boy that was going to grow up into a helpless, broken man.
Throughout my years of silence I managed to leave my body as the belt struck my back, it took a long time but eventually I stopped my tears. I just could not give him the satisfaction of making me cry. This was just interpreted as a challenge, he wanted to break my spirit.
It all brings me back to two nights ago, my father had been especially drunk and had to make an example of my determination. Before I could even think about it I was thrown to the ground and struck so hard that I had to bite down to keep my eyes from watering. That's when it happened; with his determination to make me cry, he unleashed something completely unfamilliar inside me.
I can't say exactly what happened, I couldn't feel a single moment, it still seems surreal even now. All I can say for sure is that there was something dark lurking within my mind and it finally made a grand appearance. When I was in control and concious again I was slumped against a wall, I felt tears streaking my face and lost hope. I began to worry that I had been broken, that he'd managed to finally take that one thing I had left. Then I looked down at the floor, drops of a dark liquid making a trail from the kitchen to where I sat. I looked behind me and I had a steak knife at my side. Walking to the kitchen I had a feeling of deja vu, like all this had already happened and I was replaying it in my mind. Then there he was, he had several marks in his chest and there I stood, knife in hand.
Even now, I can't say I regret a moment of it. There are men in the world who should just not be allowed out of a cell, it's too bad that my father had never been in one to begin with. The dark presence in my mind is still there, and I can tell it's going to be a frequent guest in my head now that it's been let out. I'm still trying not to worry, a padded room is safe, I feel safe for the first time since my sister left.
The last words of my sisters that I can remember were the ones she said to me on the day she left, she'd quoted some old celebrity that I can't remember. She said to me "Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together." I know that she was not talking about what I would do. But I do hope that she will be able to fall together like she hoped I would.
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