by Women Writers of Alaska

I’m going to write about truth in a form so pure it can be anything but a story.

after Deborah Miranda

The way that I was raised wasn’t a fairytale. It was horrific being beaten and tied to bunk beds and made to clean up after everyone because I was the only girl left at home it was the way it was I never complained just did it. Or being locked in the house so that I couldn’t go to school or leave. Going back down to my memory which I have lost a lot of but still I believe that I had learned a lot and was able to raise my child differently. With all my trials and tribulations I have forgiven those who have hurt me in any way. Also pretending was a big part as well but I was only pretending to be happy. So that I wouldn’t be punished for being sad. Oh let’s not forget my mom treated me this way because I looked like my dad, no excuses but that’s what she told me anyway. I had to learn to except things and people in a different way.

« »