These Are the Lies We Tell

!!TW: CHILD ABUSE AND CUTTING!!

“Life is so beautiful, isn’t it?” June turned to me and smiled, letting the sun warm her face. I gave her a weak smile in return. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was wrong.

Life is not beautiful. Life is cruel. Life is cold. Life is unforgiving. I would know. I quietly ran my fingers along my fresh scar and winced. I vaguely remember a time where I felt like June. The world was all rainbows and kittens. Until it wasn’t. I still remember the first time he touched me. The feeling of his rough hands burned into my skin so deeply, that no amount of scrubbing could wash away.

“Shhh,” he whispered into my ear. I rememeber snapping awake. The weight of his body and his hand clamped tighly over my mouth sent me into a panic. “No, no, shh,” he pleaded as I squirmed under him, “its okay. You’re okay. Its daddy. You’re safe.” He slowly removed his hand from my mouth. I had calmed down. Afterall, daddy was my knight. He would always protect me. What was there to be afraid of? I scoffed under my breath, I was so stupid back then.

“Good girl,” he breathed into my ear deeply. “So good for daddy.” His touching made me feel dirty. I hated his touch but I lived for his praises. He convinced me that daddies who truly love their little girls did this. I was old enough to know it was wrong; I was young enough to want to make my daddy happy. He convinced me it was normal. It wasn’t abuse, it was a form of deep love. Deep, sadistic, fucked up love. I hate him. I hate myself.

“Isn’t my little girl the most beautiful you’ve ever seen?” He boasted to everyone we met. It used to make me feel special, them nodding in agreement. Now it makes me nauseous. I wanted to scream at them. Didn’t they know what he was doing to me? Didn’t they know that being beautiful meant horrible things would happen to them? Why couldn’t anyone see it and save me?

I wanted to be ugly. I longed for it. I didn’t want anyones eyes to lust after me. I remember the first time I slid a razor across my thigh. A friend had taught me after I saw his scars. They were ugly. I remembered “not too deep.” It felt oddly empowering. It didn’t change anything. He bandaged my thigh and cried. He asked me why I did it, why I would want to make his beautiful baby ugly. I didn’t answer. He smacked me. I kept doing it, but it didn’t work. I press into my fresh scar again, harder. I smile at the burning pain; it brings me comfort.

This world is not beautiful. Not for everyone. But I dont have the heart to tell that to June. It would be cruel to make June aware of this fact. She deserves to bask in her blissful ignorance under a warm summer sun. So this is the lie I will tell:

“Yes, June. Life is beautiful.”