Anyone who gives a damn,
It happened again today. All I did was ask ‘why?’ why do you hate me, hurt me? But he didn’t answer, he never does. Not with words anyway. With actions, and now here I am tending to my wounds with a care that my father would never show. All I want is someone, anyone to care. Please? Someone? If anyone reads this then please, please help.
Please save me from the monster
  Anyone who gives a damn,
It seems the abuse is never ending, and now that I am older, it seems that my father believes I am able to withstand more of it. I can’t. He let his friends beat me today. 5 grown men beating a small teenage girl, cowards. I wonder now if it will ever end.
Please save me from the monster monsters
  Anyone who gives a damn,
I know that there is no one reading this and I know that no one would care enough to anyway, but I can hope, can’t I? I can hope that, if there is a God out there, if there is, by some miracle someone who cares, please answer my prayer.
Please set me free from this torture.
Please free me from my father, from the abuse, from this eternal self hatred.
Please. Please save me from the monsters.
 
  I know that it seems ridiculous to write letters that are never sent and hide them under a loose floorboard in the hell hole called my bedroom. It’s stupid and childish to hope, to believe that someone is going to come and save me but, hope is all I have now. I have nothing else to my name, not even a pound.
Things went like this for years, my letters to no one, nowhere. Every letter went under the floor to be forgotten until my early death at the hands of my father. I don’t really know why he despised me; I was never given a reason, only pain if I ever dared to ask.

  One day I cracked, or I thought I did.

  It was on a day that my father was blind drunk and couldn’t walk straight, let alone tell when to stop beating me. The pain was bad enough that I could have easily been hallucinating, but I could see a boy, around my age, stood by the wall. But he was different, see-through almost. Dressed in, what looked like Victorian clothing. He never said anything, or did anything at all. But he was there, each day until I believed that I wasn’t hallucinating, that he was there. I started to call him ‘The Ghost’ in my head, never out loud even if there was no one to hear.
  This continued for days, and the days turned to weeks, which turned to months until he was a near permanent fixture in my otherwise depressing life. Just standing there until one day it changed. He was gone. There was no boy in my room. But there was something, something that was never there before. Written, on my wall, in what looked like blinding white light, were the words
                                                            I care. I have always cared. I promise to save you from the monsters.
                                                                                         Someone who gives a damn.