18 Years of God Damn Bullshit: A Memoir

(Almost) Note

((TW// Mentions of - Suicidal ideation, sexual abuse, child abuse, violence, bigotry))

March 30, 2020

My life is the sort of life where you don't always know if you'll live or die.

I'm not alone in this; in fact, I am one of many.

My life, like everyone's, is the sort of life where I am afraid sometimes.

I think fear is one of my first memories.

Fear of violence, yelling, loud noises.

Fear of not being good enough.

I've been hurt, and run over, and beaten.

The pattern I seem to notice is that I'm always under someone's thumb.

They may be bigger than me, or older, but sometimes just the same size and age as me.

And I used to wonder why it happened to me, but I now know that I get what I deserve.

Because I am a bad person.

I've done things I can never take back.

Things I can never scrub clean from me.

Because those things are me.

They are what lies at my core, in the back of my mind.

The other pattern I noticed is I'm always being hurt by those who love me, or hurt because of love.

My mother beat my brother and I because she loved us.

My step-father touched me because he loved me.

My abuelos couldn't accept me for who I chose to be because they loved me.

And because someone loved somebody else, I had to pay for it by recieving actions in consequence to what I'd done.

And because somebody loves me, but never more than somebody else, I think I realize how love can hurt.

Love hurts when I can't give my little brother anything for his birthday.

Love hurts when I can't talk to my mom until I'm 22.

Love hurts when I can't have a family.

But most of all, love hurts when I want to kill myself but remember everyone who loves me in their various forms.

Dare I say, I'm tired of love
Yet dare I say, I deserve it