After living in "the house of hell" for five years, my mom one day decided that it was time to flee.
During those five years many horrible things had happened in the house, things which I still cry over when I think about them today. When I was five and we still lived in the house, my mom gave birth to my little sister. She only lived in the house for a short period of time, so of course she doesn't remember alle the things that went on... lucky her.
The day we fled my mom made sure that my father wasn't home. Some family members came to pick us up and they also helped us take some of our belongings with us. And then we left. Just like that. It was not a goodbye, because after a couple of months I saw my father again.

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For a couple of month my mom, sister and I stayed at a crisis center. It was a big house which on the outside didn't look like much, but on the inside it felt very safe. Obviously living at the crisis center was much better and much more different from living in my father's house. I think it was good for my mom too to live at the crisis center for a while, since she met other women who were in the same situation as herself. When you go through a tough time in life, sometimes the most helpful words you can hear are "me too". It really help a lot when someone knows what you're going through.
At the crisis center I got to play almost all day long. I was very young, so at the time I did not know that we were actually there because our lives had been in danger and still were. But I was lucky not to realise how awful it all was, because I would have been terrified.

After a couple of months it was time to move again. This time we moved in with some family, and of course my father found us...

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I'm sitting down, I'm standing up, I'm sitting on my knees... just crying crying crying. It's been a long time since I've felt pain like this in my heart. As I cry I whish that it will soon be over.. but I always end up crying for hours. It's been a long time since I've screamed of the top of my lungs. My throat hurts now. I hit and scratched myself.. I got bruises all over my body now. I usually don't hit myself like that.. but today I lost all control.


The 'funny' things is that. I'm the type of girl who looks like she has it all together. The girl who does well all the time, the girl who always looks happy and smiles at other people. NO ONE would ever have guessed that the exact same girl would sit on the floor crying her eyes out. As I write this I've finally stopped crying. My head hurts a lot. I feel terribly alone. I feel like no one cares, because even though some people tell me they care for me, I don't think they fully show it. I need to see actions as a proof of their love to me. But all I ever get is words. Because when I really need them in times like these, they only care so little for me. And it hurts so badly... My heart hurts. It's probably the worst feeling I will ever know: Feeling unloved.. I get caught up in all my thoughts and right now it would be easier not to live. Because right now being in my body, living my life, isn't much fun. But in a couple of days I know that I will feel a bit better. I won't feel loved though, but I won't think about it as much as I do right now.
It's times like these where I hate my life. And I think that I probably aren't the only one struggling. Just know that if you are too, you are not alone.


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It all looked picture perfect. It was almost winter when I was born, and it didn't take long before my parents could take me home with them. We lived in a big house near the beach and there was also a bit of nature. Could it be more perfect? A couple (who seemed to be in love) moving to a beautiful house with their newborn daughter. Of course it all looked great (my father always made sure it did), but the truth was far from perfect.

You see, my father was an alcoholic (maybe he still is, I don't know that). He drank every single day, and obviously had anger issues since he used to beat my mother up every single day.. also in front of me, and it has scarred me for life.

This is where my story started. This is the house in which a little girl lived the first couple of years of her life, the house in which a woman daily thought for her own and her daughter's life and the house in which a "man" controlled the lives of his family with anger and violence.

So the next time you see a family living in a huge beautiful house, remember this: You don't know what goes on behind those four walls. What might look like heaven is sometimes hell in disguise.

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