The Fear Of Quicksand Pits.

It was like trying to tear apart a bloodthirsty fight between two vicious and starving grizzly bears. The two were striving for the title as the stronger, superior bear. As I stood in between the two wild animals, my feet sunk into the ground with anxiety as if I were standing in a pit of quicksand. I took every blow so the other wouldn’t have to feel it and once the attention was off of each other, it then turned towards me and I had become the new clawing post. This happened often. It felt like the recurring pit of quicksand would be my fate, and I’d soon be buried alive. They chewed me piece by piece until there was nothing left of me but the frail bones of a rotten corpse… Growing up, your parents are supposed to protect you from the wickedness the world has to offer. In my case, what they’d done was the complete opposite. Their purposeful wickedness was inflicted onto me, almost as if deliberately and without any caution.

When my now ex-stepfather wandered in at 4 a.m drunk and suicidal, distasteful and offensive slurs rolled off of his tongue like an infectious prison dagger and stabbed me in the chest. For the very first time, I fought back. I screamed until my throat closed dry and my eyes puffed with tears. When I couldn’t take it any longer I left my angry home in a rush, leaving without my jacket. My mother was yelling at me telling me I couldn’t leave her alone with him. But since when was it my responsibility to cure the home of the toxic plague that quarantined us? After all, I was only just 16. I wandered the slum of my neighborhood in the early hours of the morning before calling my bestfriends mom for help. I remember sitting on the filth that covered the cement with my back against the wall of the old corner store that I used to happily walk to as a young child. I finally came the realization that I could no longer take care of my parents and that I needed to care for myself. The toxicity levels were just far too overwhelming and in that atmosphere, I couldn’t get a breath of fresh air.

Since my epiphany, I’ve dissociated myself as much as I possibly could from my family. My parents now split for nearly a year, they have parted ways and embarked new journeys; ones I wish to be in no part of. These days I hardly talk to either and I spend most of my time at work [making it to school as much as I can]. It is a refreshing feeling to know that my time in highschool is nearing an end. That as of this summer, I will be leaving home to start a journey of my own. Free from unfit guardians and quicksand pits.