Depression had always been my worst enemy,
Even now I battle with it's suffocations.
I remember the first time a therapist walked into my life, asked me why bruses lined the inside of my arms and scars intersecting throughout my skin. I just stared at the stucco walls battling weither to admitt Daddy got mad that I had no interest in what he was saying or to tell some play ground lie.
",Shrinks" I giggled "You all think you've got to know everything now don't you?" And I stumbled away aware that Dad's torture was becoming more obvious.
",Truth,Love, and Positive Intent." My father would always say. Those poison words still shout within my mind, sending chills throughout my entire body.
", I don't care Dad now will you go tell someone else?"
And his face would get red, as bright as a tomato and i'd know what was coming next. He'd grip my arms and start shaking me ", You don't care about me? I created you and I can take you just as fast. You belong to me. You are so worthless, the epitomy of what a daughter shouldn't be!" And he'd let go my arms bright red and stinging, he'd walk away with no regret as if what he just did was right but then he was gone. Disappeared as if he never existed.
", He is running from the law. He made some mistakes and he is too immature to deal with." Mom told me.
I'd smile so happy that he was gone but so afraid that he'd come back and take me from the comfortness of my mothers nest, rip me away and feed my brain with lies like he use to. Mom knew I was damaged,
I'd wake up every night screaming and crying gasping for air to fill my lungs. She sent me to a Physchiatrist.
", Anxiety attacks and PTSD." the Shrink told me.

I was ferious, how could someone who was suppose to love me destroy me so much? A father is suppose to be a protector not a destroyer! I'd cry every night wondering why he did this to me.
The childhood I was suppose to have was ripped into shreds from my father, he took away what mean't the most to me,
Normality.
I'd never thought i'd be one to grow up battling through PTSD, Never expected i'd be the girl with a story to share and scars to prove what my father did.
Each day I look in the mirror I cringe at the sight,
I Look Just Like Him.
When I finally realized the physchiatrist was here to help me i'd talk to her.
", Do you know what it's like to look in the mirror everyday and realize you look exactly like your own worst enemy?" I'd always ask her. She didn't know how to respond because of course she didn't know.
I still have PTSD and Anxiety attacks but neither are as bad, I know now that my father can no longer hurt me and if he ever came back i'd look him straight in the eyes and say,
", You cannot hurt me anymore." And walk away moving on with my life.