The Glass Box

Everyone has seen a different version of me and I really wish it wasn’t that way. The quiet girl who doesn’t say anything and just sits there observing. The girl who can be loud and annoying but doesn’t care about it. And all different versions in between. No one knows exactly who I am and really neither do I but I’ll get there some day and I hope you get to meet that girl too. There’s this problem that I have. Because there is this little other version of me that I carry that no one as seen except for a few. I really wish I could block it out but every time I get yelled at every single thing resurfaces. And if you don’t know what I mean by that I mean my childhood along with my parents divorce. I could do on forever about it so I’ll try to cut to the point. But there is a version of me where I’m in a box and I can see and hear everything outside but no one outside can see or hear me, nor do they wonder where I am. I was 9. One of the bedroom doors got kicked in because one parent locked the other one out. The screaming and yelling. This is one of those storms I was talking about. Then came the food throwing. I went to my corner in fetal position for my comfort and I watched and then all of a sudden it came to my Pringle’s. No. Not my Pringle’s they are my favorite. It seems so silly now to be upset over chips. But I was in the corner crying and now yelling. Begging “no!” But I was ignored. Did they even hear me? I must have been in a glass box. I was 15. I didn’t understand why you stayed in the truck after you brought home food. But I didn’t think anything of it. Everyone needs space. But it turned into the cops being called. There goes that yelling again. I found my corner behind my door this time and grabbed my childhood teddy bear for comfort and tried to curl up into the smallest ball possible. There was no comfort. The cops had showed up and the anger and yelling got worst. I cried. I screamed like I have never screamed before. I put shame to babies who are tired for hungry. I tried the block out the noise around me but it was still there. There was more violence from the cops that night than from my parents to. And I was still unnoticed. I must have been in a glass box. I still don’t understand why you did that. * To be continued another time

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