Finding Freedom and Faith

** This story has some trigger warnings! It is a true story, but I have changed some names and characters to protect the victim. This hits very close to home with me, but I wanted to share it with you! It involves strong language, and violent situations such as strong physical abuse, self harm, attempted suicide etc. Read at your own risk! **

P.S as always I welcome any and all critique and any ideas to make it better!
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Pain. Fear. Death. The only things that seem to pull at me anymore. My other emotions and senses have seemed to abandon me, or maybe I am just numb to them after all this time. Pain. I feel pain everyday. Everyday when my old man; a drunk that's never offered the world anything more of himself, get's to much of a buzz. Or when the drugs become to much. My fear isn't of my old man. It's of leaving this world and having nothing to go to. I grew up in church but that ended as fast as a teenage faze; and I live in hell everyday so how could the real place be any worse? My mother is death. She brought me into this world, and from the very beginning I was in constant pain, and fear, and always trying to avoid death. She knew the hell I was growing up in, but it didn't matter to her. She still left. Left me here so she could go escape with her freedom and start over, a new life. A life without my drunken old man, or me. I sit up slowly, walking into the bathroom. The face looking back at me isn't me. I'm just a hollow shell of what used to be. The old man took it all from me. I lost my childhood, my innocence, and I lost my faith. In myself, and any other kind of power, people always pray to, to grant them miracles or help them escape their turmoil. The scars on my wrist and my forearm are distant reminder's of the choice I had once made. A choice I failed at. Paramedics were to quick, and the cuts weren't deep enough. Not that time. I would try again, but I haven't. Permanent bruises dotted my chest and back. Painful memories of being beat until I couldn't stand. I wash my face and slowly make my way to the closet. No point in a shower when the ranch work is to be done. I settle on a simple black t-shirt, and jeans, and gently slip my boots over my still swollen ankle. It was probably broken, but I don't see many doctor's; in fact I couldn't remember the last time I had a regular doctor visit? Downstairs my old man is well into his second or third bottle, and he is laid out across the kitchen bar, in a drunken heap. "Piece of shit." I think to myself. Why couldn't he finally drink himself to death? I sigh heavily and walk out to the barn to start my chores. The work is hard and by lunch I am pouring sweat. My already sore muscles are screaming for me to sit and take a break, but that can't happen. If my work doesn't get done...I don't want the consequences. I sit down on a hay bale to eat, as my horse Starlight walks up beside me and nudges my head gently. It's funny how animals can sense things through you. Starlight can. He can always tell when I am hurt, or when my dad has left me a little more in pain than he should. "Hey boy. What do you want? You want some of my apple?" I smile and hand him a few slices. The horse gently nudges my head again, before turning and trotting back out to the pasture. What freedom my horse has. "Greyson!" My head quickly snaps back towards the stalls I hadn't gotten finished yet. I stand slowly, knowing my old man is now awake, and really pissed off. "What are you doing sitting down? Look at all these stalls!? There's still a ton of shit left to do!" He yells walking towards me. "Don't pull away. Stand still, and quiet." I think to myself as he grabs the front of my shirt. I don't make a sound, because if I do, he will just find something to use on me when he beats the hell out of me again. "Get your ass back to work!" He throws me down on the floor and I feel my head bounce. Stars swim across my eyes, and I grab my head to try and steady the dizziness. My old man looks at me with disgust. He hates me. Hates that he is stuck with me, but knows he can't kill me because it would be to obvious. Everyone in our backwater town knows what he does, but they can't do anything. I am stuck. I stand slowly to my feet and hold my arm out to steady myself; but he suddenly grabs me by the back of my neck and leads me to the tack room. He shoves me inside and I collide with the shovels and pickaxes hanging on the wall. Instantly blood fills my mouth, and I know my lip is busted again. Before I can stand up, he is there. One hand around my throat, the other holding a knife. It's blade is pressed against my neck and I can feel the small trickle of blood running down my chest. I'm not fighting back. I know he won't kill me, but it hurts like a bitch. He presses harder against my neck, and I groan in pain. It's to much. It feels like it's going in. I start to try and push his hand away. "Dad please! Ugh! Dad stop!" I struggle. He pulls back suddenly and I collapse to the floor. Blackness threatening to overtake me, and I gladly welcome it and fall into the blackness as he walks away.