Page 95 of Haunt Me

It turns out that he sort of used me as a pet as well.

I write poetry (a lot of it). More on that later.

I’m screaming and I can’t stop. Well, obviously I have stopped screaming now in order to write this. I have been screaming since they found me, apparently, but I can’t remember much else. The doctors keep saying that I am blocking all the trauma out. All I can remember is that my father died. And that I was screaming and I couldn’t stop. Inside, I still haven’t stopped.

I want to meet you. I want to meet you and I am scared that you will be disgusted by me. But I want to meet you.

Before I meet you, you should know how pathetic I am. Gosh, where to start? I have met no one, gone nowhere. I know nothing, except fromwhat I’ve learned from books. They say I have been trained as a pet, with no free will, no ability to love. I think that can’t be true, but they say they are professionals. They say I might never be normal, ever.

Deep down, I know the truth. I know that I deserve everything that’s happened to me. I know what Father (well, notmyfather, turns out) taught me: that I am deeply evil. I know that my actions killed him and that hell awaits me. (The doctors say that these are lies. But theyfeeltrue.)

I have been sending text messages to myself for the past two years. I was not allowed to text anyone else, I was not allowed to have friends. I was not allowed to have any other apps on my phone, or access to the Internet. But I was allowed to text. Whom? Well, I made up a ‘Friend’ and called her ‘F’. I texted her and then I texted myself back from ‘her’ point of view. I pretended I had a friend.

How absolutely pathetic, right?

Then, out of nowhere, I got a real friend. And that is why my father (wait, no, he wasn’t my real father) died.

I have to stop now, because my hands are shaking too hard to type anymore. Also, I have to scream some more, and I think it will scare the nurses. But I think I will write again. It helped. Talking to you helped.

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