My dear me, the invisible

Lesson VII: Trust no one. Never.

Lesson VII: Trust no one. Never.

Almost at the end of April I was out of control. She had no interest in anything and there came a day when everything just got worse. My dear mother informed us one night that a person outside my life entered like an intruder to take over her thoughts and her room. Just like that, my mother brought a stranger into my life on the excuse that he was her new partner and that he deserved to be happy. My neighbor in his twenties came into my house confidently as if it had always been his house.

Oh how upset me. I was filled with anger. Not because she didn't deserve to be happy but because she had usurped and given her the exact same opinion, mine, and my younger brother's. As if we were suddenly the strangers in her life and we no longer had anything to do with her.

That night I cursed in all the languages that I barely knew and that was not only funny to my mother but also annoyed her when she saw that it was something irritating. And does she get upset? I'm upset. At the time I thought that.

The following days were like living in another reality. One in which I felt watched and uncomfortable in my own home. When I bathed, I felt someone's gaze on me despite the shower curtain. When I came out of the bathroom in a towel, his eyes were on me in a way that made me sick and wanted to disappear as quickly as possible. Invaded, r***d in a certain way when she came into my room to wake me up and caressed my face. I told her, I told my mother a thousand times my discomfort and my feelings. She did not care, she called me crazy and hinted that I was making imaginations. Life was s**t more than ever. I felt abandoned, invisible. Not wanted by anyone. My brother got used to the idea of our neighbor living and sleeping with our mother.

August. August was a strange month. By then I was dressing in the bathroom behind the curtain, not wearing the small shorts that I used to before, and I was locked in my room having kinky and perverted thoughts. Discover physical pleasure at that age. I was already 15. I wanted to know what that was, what reason it had for existing and why I heard my mother moans from my room that could not be silenced. I was curious and I took off that virginity mantle myself. That meat barrier. That piece of innocence that supposedly should be the gift for someone he loved.

Did it hurt. Blood. I never mentioned it or said it because at the time I claimed it wasn't a big deal.

I met a boy through a friend. Until then my knowledge about boys was nil. I could tell she was ignorant of the subject. Anyway, I met her on f*******: and we met two weeks later, she was tall enough and dedicated to me, and we became boyfriends. There were never words of love from me to him. He did not love him, nor did he want him. We f****d in our first week of dating and it was the most awkward s*x, and terrible. He was a virgin or so he said, he moved slowly and barely felt his c**k, it was disappointing. I don't know why but it kept repeating itself, perhaps because in that short period of time I felt at least a little that that hole in my mind and chest was filled with something. Just for that moment.

1 month of courtship and his presence made me unbearable. I couldn't bear his words or his hands on me. I felt bored and suffocated. At that moment I told myself something that to this day I keep saying to myself: If things like love were easy for everyone, maybe everyone would love. But love is not for everyone, hate is. We can all easily hate.

Conclusion. I had no idea what that was. How to express it. How to feel it. Loving my father is something I have to do as a daughter. Loving my mother is something that I have implanted since I was born. Loving my brother is the same. But love someone outside my family? I f*****g can't do it.

Between those thoughts and mental disputes there was something else going on in my life. My mother knew that I was f*****g my boyfriend. She made me tell her, she threatened to call my father at that moment on the phone and tell her. My mind was ruled horror. I begged her to give me time to find the words to tell her. I begged him. She promised me she wasn't going to say anything to him.

I wish I had had a word or a sense of honor. The next day she took me to a gas station and surprise, my dad was there confused by the sudden call from my mother.

There was no introduction. Just the clear cold voice of my mother: Your girl is no longer a lady. She is a w***e.

In a public place. Where everyone could hear, in front of my younger brother and my father. I felt humiliated. Vulnerable. I felt will go to the woman I trust and purely hate her.

I did not have the gall to deny it, but if I tear my soul, my father's face with disappointment and anger will never forget me in my life. I felt hurt, betrayed. And surprised by the slap that my dad gave me and then the clear: b***h! Who yelled at me. The last thing I remember of him that day were the taillights of his Jeep speeding away from the gas station and my mother's disgusting words: You earned that for a w***e.

I knew what it was like to be truly betrayed.