A letter to my sister.. 

3/17/15 11:48PM

I think a part of me was always depressed. As a child I was so isolated. I was content staying in my room playing alone and staying up all night to watch old classics. It was my safe zone. I always felt like the black sheep of the family. Compared to you I was never pretty enough, skinny enough, athletic enough. I felt as though I had nothing of my own. I thought I found soccer, but then you started playing and I didn’t care to do it anymore. I knew I would never be as good. I had drawing, but then you were in art and out shined me. Mom was never much help. I don’t remember much about her from my childhood, but I remember all the cruel words she said. We had an absent father and I just felt like dad was the only one I had. I was daddy’s little girl with no dad. I think junior high is when the insecurities started. In Florida, they are all about making kids to pull up challenges and running miles. I hated both. I was too overweight and it was embarrassing. I was such a tomboy , plain Jane. I never felt pretty. Freshman year I hated everything. You were away at school and I was alone.  Dad was on the road being the nasty person he was. Mom was an ultimate bitch. She made me miserable. She made me feel like I was nothing. She constantly reminded me how she didn’t want me, but dad did. She never missed a chance to call me fat. She always found a reason to hit me. I was her punching bag. I began starving myself. I began cutting. I didn’t want to die. I mean I did, but not by killing myself. I enjoyed cutting because I loved the way the blade sliced my skin. It didn’t hurt really, it feels like when you get a tattoo. It’s soothing. You feel as though all the pain is being released through each cut. When I cut, I went all out in two days then stopped for months. Mom and dad were constantly fighting and dad was always drunk. Constantly lecturing me or making me watch him and mom fight. It was pathetic. I couldn’t handle it. I was poor and young so I couldn’t run away. So I cut. Everyone was oblivious which made me feel even more invisible. No one cared. Mom and dad never cared. Blood would sometimes seep through my shirt and never a glimpse from them. I feel as though a part of me just did it for attention. I wanted them to know how badly they were hurting me. Except they never realized. Tre was seriously my gift from the universe. Knowing I had a nephew gave me a purpose. I felt bad that no matter how much I loved him, I could still never be happy. I’m never truly happy. I blocked out my senior year. Family drama always. Hopefully one day I can unlock the memories. I just know I couldn’t wait to leave for school. I was finally free. I was no longer under the roof with those people. I could sleep without hearing constant fighting. I began starving myself again. I did have stomach problems but I’m sure it’s from all the years of not eating. I did cut a few times my freshman year of college. there was a lot of pressure. College was totally different than high school and I was doing so poorly. I felt like an idiot. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t understand the material. Sophomore year was hell. Crazy 8 was a joke of a job. I could never make enough money to pay rent, get groceries or gas. Eventually I just started living off peanut butter sandwiches or hot dogs. I would drink a lot of water to fill myself up. I did lose a lot of weight. I didn’t want anyone to know how badly the financial burden had weighed on me. Once again, I started cutting. Adulthood isn’t what I expected. I could barely enjoy my life. I was like “what’s the point if I’m always struggling?” Junior year was decent besides the disgusting roommates. I didn’t struggle as much financially, but I was definitely struggling with school. I loved chemistry, but I couldn’t understand anything. I felt like I was brainless. I could do well on homework, quizzes, and study all day but still fail. How could I have a career revolved around chemistry, but  not even be able to pass the class. I took diet pills that I ordered from online. Everyone at work was on them. I lost so much weight. Basically you barely ate and shit out anything else. I was starting to feel confident. To me being pretty involves being skinny. At least that’s how society sees it. My final year, I was completely done. I hated school more than ever. I hated work. I hated every part of my life. I hated struggling. I hated being a failure. I couldn’t make myself care about school even if I wanted to. I stopped going to class. I didn’t care. If my grades got to low, i just gave up. Fall semester just put the nail in the coffin. I was dropped from the chemistry department. I really hate criminology courses. I wish I didn’t have this degree but I’m too close to done. The classes bore me. I can barely make myself read the assignments. They are so long with so much info and I could never focus or remember. I was working so much because bills were more than I expected. Working 40 hours a week and going to class barely gave me time to sleep or study. I kept forgetting about my assignments even though I had a day planner. I started drinking A LOT. I didn’t know how to deal with my depression and my mistakes. I didn’t necessarily always drink to get drunk. Sometimes I would just pour a glass and just relax and not think about my problems. Other times, I would drink so much that I would black out. I hated how I felt the next morning, but I enjoyed not having my mind constantly thinking about bills and school. I had minor alcohol poisoning three times. It’s ironic, I turned 21 and no longer felt the need to drink. But before that, I was like dad. I always told myself I would never be him. I told myself I would avoid alcohol at all costs. Once again I disappointed myself. When I got held at gunpoint in November it was because my friend wanted a ride to the liquor store and to 7/11 for snacks. I was so mad. I did not want to die that night because I took a friend to get alcohol. Alcohol could not be the reason I go. December 2nd I received a notice saying I owed collections $808, I could barely pay my bills. I had that ticket to pay, I had tuition that I owed. I had grades I couldn’t dare look at. I skipped my finals because there was no longer a point. I took my vistaril, hoping I would enter a permanent sedative state. I slit my wrists and cut my stomach. I ended up only sleeping, but when I woke up I was so mad. I didn’t want to exist anymore. But I took a huge step, I told you. It was so hard for me to admit that I needed help. It seriously took everything in me to admit it. Mom always said that I couldn’t take time off. None of you realized how much of a toll it took on me. when I said I hated school, I literally meant it.  Every day just preparing for it made me miserable. (Btw I never told anyone, but in 8th grade me and IG were sitting a gazebo when a black SUV pulled up and rolled down their windows. There were guys in black masks and they pulled guns on us. I froze. I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. Deedee was with me because the cop who lived next to us was pulling up and so the SUV drove off. I could never tell anyone. I didn’t know how to. I was 12 and terrified. I didn’t want to walk to my bus stop. I didn’t want to leave the house period.) a psychiatrist and therapist is beneficial, but I still have burdens. I’m just better at ignoring them now. I feel like if I focus solely on the good things then maybe it will all go away. I still owe collections $230. I have credit cards that I need to pay off. I turned into mom. I was in such a hole and I just needed money to get out of it without telling you or mom how badly it really was. It doesn’t matter how responsible I think I’m becoming, I always end up fucking up. Buddhism was my light. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. I feel like I can become better with my spiritual beliefs. I have faith that one day I can wake up and not think about all the problems I have. This faith also helped me to realize drinking wouldn’t solve anything because I’ll still wake up the next day and have them. I have more good days than bad, but I can handle my bad days a lot better. I believe I cut myself last month , but I honestly can’t remember. I’m sure I did though because I’m always so broke. I wish I could sell my soul. I wish I never dated the Jerk. I know that’s bad but it was too soon. I should have waited instead of taking a leap of faith. I try to find happiness and others and that’s exactly what I did. I focused on having him in my life and how positive and great he was , then life didn’t seem too bad. I used to cherish my virginity and he never tried to rush me or anything. But one day I was like I’m tired of defining myself by my virginity and I knew with him i wouldn’t regret it. It was what I wanted . Sex sucks. It was painful and sex is just lame. I don’t get the point of it. I honestly get more excited about Starbucks. He was a good guy, and I’m letting life work itself out. If we are meant to be friends then we will. I’m definitely getting paid to do his statistics worksheet. Easiest $60 ever then he wants me to tutor him. I’ve never been so desperate for money. I did my assistant managers hair for $20. If I was skinny, I would probably swing on a pole. Anyways, I could tell I was with the Jerk because of my insecurities. I never thought I would find a guy that actually liked me. I mean liked me for me. He didn’t care if I just woke up with mad hatter hair, he would still tell me how beautiful I was when we were on FaceTime . I don’t want you to feel as though I can’t trust you, I just know you worry about me so much. I feel like if I tell you how badly I’m doing then you’ll think I’m going to kill myself or attempt to anyways. Another thing that made me realize the Jerk wasn’t right for me is I never even told him I tried to kill myself. When I was doing it, he never even crossed my mind. I didn’t care how he would feel. I never thought about it. I still don’t really. He’s the one that’s so closed off, I can’t confide in him. He wants to be superman and be able to help everyone. He can’t help me. Only I can help me. I am in a better place. I’ve had urged to cut but I never do. When I get overwhelmed and feel down, I just take my sleeping pill and go to bed. Then I’ll wake up with a clear mind. My next battle is to stop hating myself. The skin picking has become worse, I’m on a whole pharmacy of meds, and I’m just fat. I don’t even remember gaining all this weight. I remember taking the pills to lose weight then when I went to the doctors I was nearly 30 pounds heavier in about two months. It’s crazy. I wanted to blame the steroids. I never understood how I never have an appetite which causes me to eat less yet I still gain weight. I can look at food and gain weight. I still don’t see myself as pretty. I look in the mirror every day and look at my flaws. I’m constantly feeling on my back rolls. I want Lipo. I try working font and eating healthy and I’ll go about a month and I just see myself getting bigger. The numbers on the scale would just keep rising. I hate the scale. Those numbers tear me apart. I look at your body after two kids, and I’m so jealous. I think the only time I was ever skinny was as a fetus in moms belly. I just want to be as strong as you. I hate that I struggle so much and yet you were able to go to school while pregnant and work two jobs. I feel like I’m always worn thin. I’m really trying to get better with communication. I’m trying to talk to mom and dad more. I see people with close family bonds and I realize how distanced I am. I know I should call grandma but I don’t. I know I should call mom but I don’t. I know I should tell dad about my health problems but I don’t. I don’t have any sense of urgency to keep in touch with anyone. I’ve lost touch with friends over the years and I don’t even care. I have such a big heart yet I can act so heartless. I wish I could blame my depression but I can’t . It’s just me. You couldn’t have helped me. You say you feel bad but you shouldn’t. The more you remind me how I have tre and aaliyah or how you feel bad, the more I start to pull away. I don’t want anyone to feel guilty and I don’t want to make people nervous because they think ill slit my wrist the proper way this time. Of course it’s not everything but it’s enough for you to know that I don’t intentionally hide things from you. I want to be able to talk to you but I just can’t. I can’t talk to a lot of people. I connect with everyone differently. No one person will ever know me completely; no one will know my whole story. But you know you can’t tell me everything either. You don’t talk to me the way you talk to your best friend. It’s just how human beings are. I hope this letter of random events and thoughts help you to understand that I was destined for a downward spiral. It couldn’t have been prevented. It was bound to happen but I’m happy I’m finally getting help now instead of getting older and getting worse. 
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