Kendra Adams

Once upon a Sunrise
2005-02-15 21:51:51 (UTC)

Liza**story**

My dearly beloved mother is now gone. How great was her
soul. She was always to bring a smile to anybody’s face,
even my cold-hearted father. My name is Liza, I am but
16,
and I am here to tell you a story about my life. My life
after my mom died.
Today is a depressing day. It has been two years
since my mother died. She left me here with an alcoholic
and abusive father. I can’t believe that I am still alive
to tell this story to this day. I ought to be dead,
I am friendless and an outcast at school. I am
always ostracized by everyone all the time. I am barley
passing my classes and my teachers always have to ask me
why. I wish they would just tend to their own business.
They tell me I am a great student, but I just need to do
more work. What do they care that I don’t get it all
done?
It’s my grade, not theirs! My teachers all tell me that I
am so creative. And here is an example of one of my poems
that I wrote that expresses my life and who I really am.
Nothing but sadness and sorrow seem to shoot through my
heart. All but my friends have seemed to be falling apart.
Is there nothing I can do to help you? Cause you can’t
seem
to help me
What am I supposed to do? When I can’t even see. Why do I
make people so blind?
Can’t they see past my colors? Can’t people just see me
for
who I am inside? Or do I really have to lie? Cuz no one
will accept me for who I really am. And they wonder what I
am really like on the inside. But no one will take a
chance
to see what I am like. You just have to lay your fear
aside. No one wants to be my friend. No one wants to talk
to “that chick”. I won’t be there for you in the end.
Because you still think I’m gothic. Nothing will change
your mind about me
Nothing will turn my head to you. So next time you want
superman to save you. I will be laughing at you in the
face. Because I called you for help. And you just turned
me
away

I have always been told that life is like a box of
chocolates. If life is really a box of chocolates, I am
throwing it away! No one should have to live like I have
these past few years. Thank God my mother is gone now. I
could not bear the thought of dad beating on her like he
does me. It makes me want to die. It makes me sick. My
mother would have left my dad two years ago, but she died.
She died of a serious injury that the doctors could not
figure out. They had said she was diagnosed with some
illness, but I know that was not the reason she died. Only
my dad and I knew why she really died.
Tonight, I had no idea what lied in store for me. I just
thought tonight would be an ordinary night. The night
where
my dad goes to the bar for hours at a time, party hard,
and
gets drunk. Then when he comes home, I suffer. I get what
I
don’t even deserve. Isn’t there something in the law or
something that parents can’t beat their children to near
death? I guess I was wrong as usual.
I never pay attention in class. I can’t concentrate. Why
do
my teachers not understand I am trying to reach out to
them? Now I hang out with all the Goths to try to comfort
my self. Nothing seems to ease my pain? I now have some
friends that will actually listen to what I have to say
for
once. And I tell them all that I am going through. About
all the pain and suffering I endure more than once a week.
And they read all I write. All but the teachers and my dad
know what I really feel. All but my dad know that I am not
alright, because my dad doesn’t even care. He’s just fine,
as long he gets his alcohol almost every night. Until one
day my teacher found something I wrote,
11 o’clock on a Friday night. Thinking everything would be
alright. Almost ready to turn out the light. When my dad
decided to pick a fight. Hoping for all and hanging on.
Never let go when it all goes wrong. I can see now why
nights seem so long! Cuz now in the dark, I feel alone. I
can’t call for help because daddy took away my phone. Cuz
its 12 o’clock Saturday Morn. All but my conscience are
worn. All the fighting made me wish I was never born. It’s
2 o’clock and blood drips off my face. Now I know why
people want to leave this race. Because we can’t keep up
with the pace and the hate. Cuz its 7 o’clock and I am
about dead. Bundled up in blood on my bed. And I remember
what he said, “It’s 11 o’clock. You should have fled!”
She picked up the paper, let out a huge sigh and hook her
head in disbelief. As she read on, her eyes seemed as if
they would pop out of her head. “Oh my God!” She exclaimed
as she finished reading my poem. She could only stand
there
in utter silence, making me but, oh, so
uncomfortable. “Liza, would you like to talk about this?”
she asked me quietly. I slightly shook my head in deep
fear
of her trying to find out about what is really happening.
She didn’t say anymore, but a silent tear rolled down her
cheek. Finally the bell rings to go home.
Well, as you can tell, I hate to tell about my family life
because it is so terrible. Why would a teenager tell such
things? Because it’s true. No one really recognizes
society
today. No one will listen to children. You all think that
we all lie! Well, have I got something to prove you wrong
with. This is a true life story.
Tonight, my daddy went to the bar again, to do his usual
round of drinking and carrying on. But tonight, I am more
scared than ever. My dad has stayed out later than usual.
I
hope he hasn’t wrecked or anything. I can only prey for
his
safety home. As I slowly drift of to sleep on the couch,
waiting for my dad, I hear the garage door open. I quickly
jolt up. Hiding in a closet full of clothes, a place
where
daddy doesn’t know. I hear my daddy turn of his car, I
know
he just got back form the bar. And tonight, nothing will
be
alright. Knowing we will have a fight. Running nowhere,
but
to my room. Fearing my dad will make me dead. I heard the
front door go boom. So I huddled under covers on my
bed. “Liza!” he said, screaming my name. And I know it had
started. Nothing will ever be the same. Leaving me empty-
hearted. “Liza!” he yelled over again as he drew near to
my
room. What will it take to stop this pain? My youth will
never bloom! “Liza,” he whispered as he opened my
door. “Liza my child, it’s alright.” But what could I do
when he threw me to the floor? I was so helpless that
night! “Daddy,” I cried hoping he didn’t know. “Daddy?” I
said, but he looked so mad. Nothing could stop the blood
flow. As I screamed, “You’re not my Dad!!” That did me in
for the rest of the night. He knocked me out cold so I
couldn’t fight.
“Liza,” he whispered as he drew near. I shook and
trembled
at what I was about to hear. “Liza,” he said, “There’s
nothing left to fear!” Daddy’s gone sober and it’s almost
noon. Three more hours left before he leaves again. I know
he will be going to the bar soon. Tonight, I will feel the
pain. Daddy’s gone now and there’s nothing left to do. So
I
packed some clothes and left a note, stating what was
true.
I left my dad’s and called a cab, I don’t want to be home
tonight. I guess all I can say is that I left home because
of fright
After that, I was sent to a foster home. My dad no longer
could see me and I could no longer see him. I was to no
longer to have contact with him, which I am extremely
thankful for. I guess foster homes aren’t all that bad. At
least you don’t have parents that go out and get all drunk
and beat on you every night! I guess I can say that now my
life is so much better now. I have learned new things. My
grades have now improved. I even have more friends. The
worst thing I guess is that I write more poems now more
than ever and I try not to let my care takers see it. I
think they would be so concerned about me. That’s the
last
thing I need in my life. But my care taker found my poem.
Many say that is going to be okay. That I have more to
live
for today. But nothing is alright tonight as I cut and put
up another fight. Nothing can stop the pain I feel. What
is
fake seems so real. And now you say that the world is dead
as I stomp off to my bed.
Cuz you don’t know how it feels to be stabbed in the back.
And you don’t know how it feels to be taunted forever.
They
call me the gothic chick. I always try to explain that
what
I wear is expressing me and it covers up my pain. Everyone
just turns their head. No one wants to know if I am okay.
They just act like I am a no one. And now they have
nothing
left to say
Cuz I cut myself today, and it wasn’t my first time. I was
just trying to get rid of the pain. So I cut deeper every
time. And now you run to me looking for answers as to why
I
hurt myself. And I can only stare you in the eyes and tell
you lies. Now you don’t trust me anymore, and I would
advise you try to understand me for once. Cuz you don’t
know what’s to be stuck inside me! You don’t understand
what I am going through. You don’t even attempt to talk to
me. So how are you ever going to understand why I do what
I
do? No one has ever mistreated you. You lead a perfect
life. Now you ban me like you don’t even know who I am! So
who’s here to save me now, as I cut deeper and deeper?
More
desperate for help and understanding everyday?

I am now 17 years old, and I can drive. I help grocery
shop
if anything is needed on the list. People have said that I
have changed a lot. They say I seem like a new person and
that they wouldn’t have recognized me before. I was at the
grocery store this past week and ran into my teacher from
last year. She said, “Excuse me, but you look so familiar.
Are you Liza?” Well, I didn’t really want to answer, but I
did. “Yes, Ma’am. It’s me. How are you doing, Ms.
Williams?” But she wouldn’t speak. She only hugged me,
smiled, and shed a few tears. And I tried to comfort her,
and tell her that I am in a better place now. That she
doesn’t have to worry anymore. She only stood there,
letting me wrap my arms around her as she cried even more.
This was a story about a teenager crying out for help.
Desperate and in need of people to help and understand
her.
Don’t ever let warning signs go unsolved. There is a child
out there that may be experiencing the same kind of things
expressed in this story. Please, don’t over look a child.
Help them and reach out. Even if they don’t receive you at
first, please, keep trying




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