As time went by I started to not get any emotions. I started to believe it wasn’t a god. When mother would hit me it was like her taking her anger out on a rag doll. There wasn’t any pain that I felt when mother would do anything to me. I would hold my tears back so mother would not get the satisfaction of my defeat. At night I no longer dreamed, nor did I let my imagination work during the day. Mother still did not let me get anything to eat. So when I did eat I felt like a dog, licking the bowl or plate to it was clean. Father moved out the house and mother just got worst but at this point I don’t care no more. I started showing my butt off because I felt that it wasn’t anything else I can do.
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