The truth

I have not since childhood, fill the pages of my prodigal diaries or journal, or written down my secret thoughts. It seems appropriate, since my childhood is so on my mind, to do so now. And to draft my present as i've been doing roughly a year, where Annika has always been hiding, from the future.

My mama, our mama, would go through odds to support us. When i say that. It means restarting life over once through from bankrupcy to average. She made it. Even with a despicable alternative that often disturbs us in the mornings when a lot of us has made it to dreamland. Fights, bawlings, throwing things everywhere. It doesn't take physical violence to actually plummet someone, i realise, but the why& how. To diffuse with all that, i consciously doubted her intentions because of our lack of recognition;; our click of connection.

At home. 3 a.m.
Me-"Mama, if i had a daughter, i would be right by her no matter she's right or wrong. Whatever situation, as long as a guy lay hands on her, he is wrong." I remember seeing my mama, portraying an intense, tearful profile when she knew what i believed was wrong. That my sister's crafted version was a lie. I don't know whom to believe. My breaking-down kin, or a mother i have the least clue about. Is this what you label a mixture of emotions? & during that juncture, the only person i hated i discovered was a good person. Not the person whom i picture beating my mom or anyone of us up. Is he moulding his actual ireful ways? What about the money he's been chasing at my mother? What about my sister's confessed platitudes? Goddam why the hell did i go find out something that pressures me at 4 a.m overish. why the hell i have always not know the truth?

Alright i'm late for work. Au'voir