"You Sick Bitch."

Seven day punishment.

My mother's brilliant idea. Find the seven things I like the most, take the away from me for an entire week, and only give them back starting the eighth day, if I am "good".

Number 1 was seeing, 2 was reading, 3 radio and watching tv, 4 playing with toys, 5 playing with friends, 6 using the phone, 7 drawing. It was in order of how much I enjoyed each thing. I liked seeing the most, drawing the least.

For two weeks I wasn't allowed to talk, and no one was allowed to refer to me as my name. I was "it". Ask "it" to come down for dinner. Tell "it" to go to bed.

She accomplished number 1 by taking my glasses.

Sick fucking drug addict, sadistic cunt.

So the first thing I got back was drawing, but I couldn't see well enough to do it. So I wrote stories. I wasn't allowed to read, but writing was my loophole. Writing was the ONLY thing I could do, the only way to pass the time.

That was the thing that passified me, the one thing that I was allowed to do to amuse myself. No tv, no friends, no toys, no glasses. No speaking. No being spoken to

Words were it for me. Still are.