The Beginning…
She entered the world under false pretenses. Her birth was supposed to serve a specific purpose, to achieve a goal for someone else (always for someone else). And with this, her very first task, she failed miserably. That spectacular first failure set the tone for the rest of her life.
It was very early in life that she realized she was “less than”. The Others mattered more, their thoughts and feelings were more important than hers. She learned quickly that if she just made sure everyone else was happy and comfortable then things were a little less turbulent and she was pretty much forgotten. And being ignored was fine with her. As long as she kept a low profile they, for the most part, let her be.
She was free to try to carve out an existence that she could function in. It consisted of daydreams and fantasy worlds where she was worthwhile and loved. And that was when times were “good”. When times were bad, it consisted of pain and nothingness. She considered it a victory when the pain was self-inflicted because that was pain she could control and deal with. The pain they inflicted, although not physical, was much worse. The nothingness was sometimes a blessed relief. She could shut her mind down to their names and their cruel remarks and their relentless belittling. And the overwhelming tension that filled the house was so thick and ever-present that she could barely breath.
She became a good little actress. She just had to do her part to keep up the appearance to the Outside World that their’s was a happy little family. Because Outsiders opinions are what mattered more than anything else to the Mother. Well, that and blind unquestioning obedience. So for all intents and purposes, she seemed happy and outgoing to everyone…on the surface. But inside she was dying a little more each day until finally, by the time she hit preteen years, her soul breathed it’s last breath.
She took solace in books when she was a child and then music became her salvation. The books took her away from everything, albeit temporarily. The music served another purpose. In other people’s words she found herself. They spoke the words she either couldn’t find on her own or wouldn’t dare give voice to. The louder and chaotic and angry the songs were, the better.
It was around this time that the injuring started to really take hold. It began with bruising and small scratches. Digging her nails into the palms of her hands untill the blood seeped out when the verbal assaults would occur then later when she was alone, punching her thighs until the bones ached deep inside and she could barely walk without pain. But the pain was GOOD, it was life to her. As long as it was her pain, not theirs.