Did you see the gun in my hand? I held it to my head.

My hands were shaking, my breath was short, and I pulled the trigger back a little

Not enough for the hammer to hit, but to feel adrenaline. 

For all the times I've been put down, hit, belittled.

For every time I've been told I was wrong

I will never amount to anything, but oh you can do everything

For every time I've been called a bitch, selfish, a monster

Every time no one came when I cried, when I pleaded for help

I begged you, over and over and over

I begged and begged, sobbed. Cried. 

But now I don't cry. Instead, I occupy.

I occupy my mind with every thought I can manage. 

"You selfish bitch"

"You piece of shit"

Another hit, another scream.

But that I can handle. They don't know the half of it.

You don't care, even when you know. 

No one does.

And so I put that gun to my head, pulled the trigger back.

Not far enough for the hammer to hit, but enough to feel the adrenaline.

Enough to feel anything at all.