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Life.

What is it?

Is it something vast and beautiful?

Is it something that is to be treasured?

Is it something that should be loved?

Or is it something that should be pitied?

Is it something that destroys you?

Is it something that should be taken away, if a person is not fit to live?

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I always questioned myself on what is life.

I was taught that life is beautiful, that life is something to be treasured and loved.

I was taught that by my brothers and my friends

But I was also taught that life is pitiful, that it can destroy you, that you shouldn't live if other people thought so.

I was taught that by my father.

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My father was a very thoughtful, kind, caring man who served as a pastor to several churches for many years.

Or at least, to the public, he was.

My father was a man who was strict, power hungry, and hot tempered.

Or at least, to my brothers, he was.

My father was a dedicated person who sometimes lets his temper get the better of him but still is loving.

Or at least, to my mother, he was.

My father was a short-tempered man who was very hostile and aggressive.

Or at least, to me, he was.

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My father used to beat me.

He still does to this day.

You could say that he abused me.

But true to my name, Sang Hee which means benevolent and pleasant, I did not have the evil in me to say that.

Out of respect to him, since he is my father, I always called them beatings.

I question myself why I still call him my father.

But then again, I don't question myself why I still call my mother, my mother and my brothers, my brothers.

My mother did nothing to stop him.

My brothers did nothing to stop him.

We were all powerless against him.

Yet, I was the only one he beats.

With my mother, he only ever argued with her.

With my brothers, he went past arguing and sometimes even slapped them.

But with me, he never argued. He thought that I was too dumb to argue with.

He always beats me.

He beats me with a stick, a belt, a broom, whatever he could find that would hurt.

He never used his hand though.

He never slapped me.

But I wish he did.

It wouldn't leave a scar like the lashes I have on my legs.

It wouldn't make me ashamed of my body.

It wouldn't scare away people when they saw my legs which is covered with scars.

It wouldn't make me the weakling I am today.

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WARNING: This story contains foul language and mature content that may not be suitable for all people.

I am also aware that not all of the events that will happen in this story is what really happens during abuse but I am completely aware, and I hope that you will be too, that this story will be written based on my past experiences.

I have been abused all my life and I have felt almost all the symptoms so I am writing this story based on my abuse but there will be several changes. It will include some celebrities but the main highlight will be the conflict (the abuse) and the solution [if there is one].

I have also changed some of the character's names in order to protect their identities.

If you wish not to read such a story like this, you are free to stop here.

If you dare, you may continue on.