I would wish for peace.

Beneath the hand, slamming down on skin that lay bare over a lap, bruises would form. Sobs would echo throughout an old apartment. Rusted, dirty, infested. I grew up believing that a mistake meant pain. That when I’m not good enough, I was to be shown wrath. An uncontrolled emotion from a father, the only parent in this despicable life.

            While the uprise of mental health has been brought to global attention, I believe that the open minded still have a tunnel for thoughts. Though they do see more than their predecessors, our traumas are still seen with blind eyes. If they cannot understand the meaning behind our mutilation, behind our natural responses, behind our processes; then they truly cannot help us heal. Us as children, against those who have authority based on their age, is not something I wish upon the future’s children. These people, full grown and more experienced, do not understand their ignorance. And that, in itself, is pure idiocrasy.

            Children we may be, and still, we have more intelligence than our creators. They use their trauma, their experience, and their age against us. As soon as we do the same, it’s not applicable anymore. I do not believe that at the age of barely 9, I should have been wishing for eternal peace. Peace from injuries. I do not believe those who tell me that my father is trying. I do not want people to excuse him, because even when I try my best, it still isn’t enough. So, if my best wasn’t enough as a child barely 14, constantly expected to be unattainably perfect, then surely a man near 40 would not be allowed the "petty excuse". I may be a child, I may be a human, I may be young and naïve; but I am allowed a moment of anger. Bruises crossing my legs, not being able to sit down for days following due to pain. Scars across my arms, bloodied bandages. And still, it’s not possible for me to be not okay. Permit me my rage.

            Yes, mental health is more prevalent as it’s becoming widespread; and it doesn’t mean that it’s well accepted by the people. As a child with a parent who is oblivious, I went through everything on my own. Bullying, harassment, suicidal ideations. All on my own. He knew. He saw. He heard. But he did not act. Did not change anything. Did not try.

            Growing up in this society that is new to mental health and acceptance is undeniably frustrating. Growing up in a society where abuse is now being recognized, and adults do not wish to understand that they were abused; and that they, too, abuse is another form of torture. I wish for peace. I wish to be free of my shackles in this household where it’s said, but only heard upon deaf ears. I wish to escape this immaturity. I know I’m not the only one. Let us out, please.