Lost

Startled I open my eyes, it's dark. Where am I? How did I get here? I do not know what is going on...

However, I do know where I have been. Let me start from the beginning.

My name is Samantha. I am a 26-year-old woman. I lived in a small town all of my life. Small town living is not for everyone, and I wish I could tell you what it was like, but I never left my house. I had a window in my room, and I say room, but it was less than a room. Let's be honest, since I'm telling you the beginning, it was a closet. I had a bucket to do my business in and an old ratty blanket. The people you would call parents gave me a "new" (old) sleep camisole every year since I grew out of the others. I was not allowed to bathe regularly, once a month due to the smell that would come off me from cleaning the house and sweating. Although you would think I was not fed from this type of setting, it was not much but enough to keep me alive and able to work in the house. It was not a big house, a normal single home. I do not know why I deserved this type of living, although, the pure rage from the "parents" was evident every hour of every day. I am telling you my past so you can understand why I do not know where I am.

It started when I was about 5 years old. I remember the day they told me about my new room. That was the happiest I have ever seen them. It was like they were giving me the greatest gift, telling me what my new role would be. Explaining to a 5-year-old that they would now go potty in a bucket and take care of everything in the house including cooking, cleaning, and laundry. I did not learn how to do these things fast. Asking for help was not an option; I did learn that lesson fast. I was beaten to a bloody pulp that first time. Left on the floor in the basement to figure out how to get the laundry upstairs; Baskets were heavy. I cried for hours from the pain inflicted that day. It was the first time, but not the last. Learning to cook was worse. I have 3rd degree burns up and down my arms. That was just from me spilling, grabbing, and dropping all kinds of hot food. If something was inedible it would be dumped on me, and I was forced to clean it up.

I do not tell you this for pity. I do not tell you anything for sadness or comfort. I have learned to live without all of the emotional connections from other people. Sympathetic words do not help. Nothing makes me forget or get over the torment that was inflicted on me.

As I grew, I did learn to do my tasks, and I think I got better at them. The "parents" however beat me almost every hour of the day. Explaining I am a worthless, ugly, fat, whore. I have never seen a mirror; I do not know what I look like. Knowing I am doing something wrong every day is how I lived. I assumed this was normal.

My sanctuary, though, was my window. I could see the trees from the forest in our backyard. They called to me in the moments I prayed for death. They called to me when I could not sleep due to pain. They called to me...

It was not a person or a voice, it was the longing of something new. Something better...

I am scared. I am battered and bruised. I live though. I still do not know if I live or just turned into a robot; Mechanically moving through the day and night. I do not speak (yes, I can speak); nothing I have ever said had turned into something good. The last time I spoke I was 8 years old. The last thing I said was "NO." I never spoke again...