BodyOfDaffodil
Member
- Jun 14, 2023
- 31
Tomorrow is my birthday. I spend it in the company of a bottle of grey goose vodka and an exacto blade. I spend tonight in bone chilling misery, holding my pillow tight and closing my eyes as I hope the night will consume me so I won't have to wake up in the morning.
The sickness I've been dealt with by the wicked hands of god have come to serve me no longer. I don't feel anything anymore, just a numbness from getting high all the time and drowning my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. I'm too young to be this hurt, and too old to change my childhood.
If Jesus or god were anything of holy, why couldn't they have stopped what my family did to me? What lesson have I learned from my experiences? Did I learn that a little girls place in laying with her father or that my face makes a good punching bag when it comes to the wrath of my mother? Or my body is to be used as an ashtray by an abusive boyfriend? Where are the lessons in the pain I find, and where does the pain stop?
Tomorrow is my birthday, and I hope it's my last. Young Daffodil has had enough now, and all she wishes to do is cannibalize the feelings deep inside, eat them, puke them and repeat the process until I reach some form of purity inside that god will see as worth rescuing.
If I die alone in some abandoned house, out on the prairies then, god alone will have to grovel on the dirt to have my forgiveness then. I have never begged him for anything and I won't start now.
The sickness I've been dealt with by the wicked hands of god have come to serve me no longer. I don't feel anything anymore, just a numbness from getting high all the time and drowning my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. I'm too young to be this hurt, and too old to change my childhood.
If Jesus or god were anything of holy, why couldn't they have stopped what my family did to me? What lesson have I learned from my experiences? Did I learn that a little girls place in laying with her father or that my face makes a good punching bag when it comes to the wrath of my mother? Or my body is to be used as an ashtray by an abusive boyfriend? Where are the lessons in the pain I find, and where does the pain stop?
Tomorrow is my birthday, and I hope it's my last. Young Daffodil has had enough now, and all she wishes to do is cannibalize the feelings deep inside, eat them, puke them and repeat the process until I reach some form of purity inside that god will see as worth rescuing.
If I die alone in some abandoned house, out on the prairies then, god alone will have to grovel on the dirt to have my forgiveness then. I have never begged him for anything and I won't start now.
