Turmoil

I remember you phoned me, saying "Get here or I'll jump off this bridge!"
I was twelve and scared and said "Dad, wait, that's sick!"
But words were worthless, and I ran at once, leaving my home with a dreadful hunch.
When I found you at your house, you smacked my head and yelled "What took you so long, slut, did you want your daddy dead?!"
I cried and plead for you to understand that I did my very best to reach your demands.

But there was disappointment on your face and guilt in my heart, until I screamed "Stop it, monster, you're tearing me apart!"
You froze for a moment, but then called me sick and mentally ill; said I should go and pop me some pills.
My world stopped then and there. I thought to myself: How can a father have such little care?

I felt so bad, as if I had made you wrong; like it was my fault that your love for me was gone.
I stopped visiting, but you kept calling, and each time I answered, a new insult was waiting for me.
I started to believe, that perhaps you were right. Maybe I was bad and I should give up the fight.

A sharp pain in me grew to something I couldn't handle. My mind was crumbling and I couldn't stand it.
I found, that a razorblade cool against burning skin was something that eased up the pain within.
Even if it was just for a little while, it was something that helped me bring on a smile.

But when my mum found the fading marks, she looked like I felt. I tried to explain as I before her knelt.
Liquid eyes locked with mine as she was dumb. She then said "Is this how I've failed, am I that bad a mum?"
I felt her hurt and my heart weighed a ton. How could she not understand that this was how I carried on?

Heart aching for how wounded I made her, I promised to stop. I knew if I went on, it would make her heart drop.
So I laid down the knife. Hoping that one day, it would no more be needed in my life.

But my heart didn't ease and I grew to hate you over the years. Cut all contact as I got older, and hid all my tears.
I promised myself that you'd never harm us again, and to help me stay strong I had my family and friends.

Technically, my life is good, I have more than most. So why am I feeling empty and transparent - like a ghost?
I talked to professional people about myself, but none of them were really that big of a help.
Then they told me I was Borderline, as if I knew what that meant. But their looks told me not to worry, they would help me mend.

It's not that my life now is perfect by far. I still cry and feel like this life is very bizarre.
But I don't think of that knife in my drawer every day, and my future isn't as scary - it'll work out, as my dear mother say.