Will I Always Be Weak?

“My name is Jasmin.” 

“I hate my name for one reason only.”

“Because it’s the name my scumbag parents gave me.”

They were terrible when I was with them. My dad abused me every night. He blamed me for his miserable life, and while I suffered, my mother drowned herself in wine, not even acknowledging my existence.

“Why me”

I asked that question every second of every day and prayed to be free, but freedom never came.

Then that one fateful day came. The great peril of my life happened. While I was throwing away the countless bottles of beer, my father walked through the door.

“W-welcome home, Father.” I silently greeted him; he reeked of alcohol and had an evil look on his face.

“Jasmin, come here now, you bitch!” He shouted, I flinched and he started screaming even louder.

“Jasmin, come here; I won’t hurt you,” he grinned. Under his breath, he said two words I’d heard countless times before.

“I promise,” he muttered.

I started walking toward him with my head down and tears brewing at the corners of my eyes. I know he’ll break that promise. He hasn’t kept a promise since my sister died.

“Jasmin, do you know why we are poor!?” he yelled.

" Do you know why your mother and I detest you!?” his voice getting louder.

“Do you know why your sister, my little girl... Do you know why she is dead?!” His voice makes it to its peak.

I just kept my head down as tears flooded from my eyes, I want to die, please, I didn’t mean to; it wasn’t my fault! I kept telling myself that but I know the real truth. I want to live, but I know it’s my fault and that I deserve this pain, this hell.

After a slight pause, my father spoke up again”Jasmin, answer me!” as he punched my stomach, I fell to the ground, coughing up blood. After I stopped coughing, I wiped my mouth of the blood, stared at my father, and answered.

“It’s all my fault,” I spoke these words from the depths of my heart.

After these words came out of my mouth, the pain began. It hurt so much—the pain of his feet breaking my ribs as they collided with the side of my torso, the pain of him holding me by the neck and choking me to the brink of death. This pain was nothing compared to the words that came out of his mouth. I know he’s a scumbag, but he is my father. The pain of being blamed for everything and knowing the man I should trust the most is the one hurting me so much. It was worse than death.

I look over at my mom watching Television as this all unfolds in front of her. I look into my dad’s rage-filled eyes. And I started crying even more—tears of betrayal, tears of a 15-year-old girl who just wanted a real, loving family. The fear filled my heart and I spoke a few words that I never thought I would ever say.

“Mommy, please help me.”

I continued begging for my life, “Daddy stop, stop, please.” My vision started to go black, and a memory of the most important person in my life came to mind.

The last words that I spoke were the most painful thing I’ve ever done. My little sister was all I could think about. “Angie,” I squeaked.

“Angie I’m so sorry.” My heart stopped, my eyes dried out, I breathed my last breath and everything went black.

At last, I’m free.