Why Did I Ever Think I Could Make A Difference?

I have always hated darkness, thus my overhead lights always shining down on me throughout the night, but lately, I’ve been hating nights in particular. Silent nights. Cold, psithurism-filled nights. Nights when the only sound you could hear is your own breathing, erratic with fear and something else. Lately, there’s been a churning inside my stomach; deep, gnawing, heartburn-like pain that gets lodged in my throat. It’s painful, and I always want to break down and cry but I can’t. I have to be strong because of my baby brother, and because I feel laden with guilt that I believe I have no right to feel sad at the turn of events.
My parents fought again, and although I know fights are supposed to be healthy in marriage, I can’t help to think otherwise. I hear the screaming, the furnitures getting toppled over, things getting broken- the vicious process of them trying to beat each other senseless with words before they succumb to physical torture. I have been hearing these hatred-filled war ever since I could remember and now that I’m older, I could only hear so much before I scream at them stop. And they stopped, and my mom left, and I’m left to take care of my 18 month old brother with this guilt inside of me, trying desperately not to let the tears escape as my brother cried for our mother at night while he sleeps, or upon seeing him run to the door at the sound of a vehicle outside our home. It is at night that the guilt gets so overwhelming that I don’t know what else to do aside from pray that this night, please let my brother sleep through this night. And when the house is asleep and I’m left to my thoughts, the guilt engulfs me that I do nothing but toss and pray, and look out the window and stand, and do everything in my will not to let the silence get to me, not to let the guilt take over my whole being.

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