P.S. Because I Loved You.

P.S. Because I Loved You [12].

September 4:

Dear Ethan,

You told me that I was the strongest person you knew. You were wrong.

Sometimes I hide my weaknesses in fear that you would just see me as a dejected person. I hide my thoughts because I am scared to peek at them. Whenever bad thoughts cloud my mind, I tell myself that there are people in the world who are worse off. I try not to be selfish, I try to see the good in the bad. But no matter how much I try to avoid self-pity, I end up hating myself more for being conceited or screwing things up. It's no longer an option but rather has become a habbit: this form of weakness. I often find myself running in circles and when I try to run away, I find that I am not being chased. I find that the only person I'm running away from is myself because when I look back, I can only find darkness. Darkness was my past, the trail I've left behind, and darkness is what awaits me in the future. The candle has long blown out and I have to crawl to find the peck of dim sunshine.

It's wrongful knowing that someone you love doesn't know all of you, but it is worse when you don't know yourself enough to be loved in the first place.

Ethan, you knew my backgroud - where I came from. You knew my parents and you occasionally felt sorry for me, claiming that when we turned 18 we would run away together, hand in hand, side by side, always keeping each other company. But what you did not know was everything that happened under the surface. Sure you saw the actions of my parents fights and the way I became invisible in my home.  You witnessed how I faded into another abandoned possession and how I was never reclaimed. Nonetheless, one thing you could never see was the way my mother talked to me.

I lived in an atmosphere filled with hatred and disgust. I was always looked at as a piece of old gum on the floor; when my mother looked at me, she crinkled her nose but reality gave her a wake up call to tell her that I could not be scraped off the ground. She would perpetually tell me how much of a buden I am, how much trouble I caused. She would shake her head, angry to have given birth to such a child. I guess my mother always saw things through one lens. She saw that I was filthy, undesired and her way to make herself feel better was to throw bitter words at me. She never did change the focus of her lens to see how much pain and hurt I felt.

I recall this one afternoon I came home with a test I did well in. It was in an AP class, and gettting a good grade in such a class could be classified as a miracle.  It was a college level course, European History, and many kids dropped the class before the first semester ended. So I came home with the test and showed  it to my mother.

"Isn't that good?" I grinned proudly.

"What?" She mocked, "getting a 97%? I coulda do that, anyone coulda done that. It's not even a 100 anyway." 

"It was a 97, a high A. Many people in my class failed and I did really good. You should me proud of me." I sighed, hurt by her lack of support.

"Proud of you? What the hell is there to be proud of? Rosa you are just full of damn disappointment. You aren't smart and when you get something like an A, you brag about it!" She scolded.

My eyes started to sting but for once, I did not back down. "You don't know anything you old scum!" I yelled relentlessly.

She gaped and then came closer, a centimeter away from my face. So close that I could feel her anger bouncing off her skin.

"You have no right to talk back to me. You think you better than me? You think I'm stupid huh?" Before I could say anything, I felt the air rush around me as my cheek vibrated, slowly seeping into numbness. She stepped back and was a bit shocked of her slap. I, on the other hand, felt no emotion. I stared at her without blinking. I wanted to say a million things to her but not a word dared to slip out.

The three words I had longed to say finally rang my ears. "I hate you." I hissed. "Fuck you."

My tears eventually made their way down my cheeks and I sprang to my bedroom. I ran in there and shut the door behind me. I sunk to the ground and whimpered. I then heard the hustling of feet and immediately got up and forced the weight of my body to block the door.

"YOU NEED TO STOP DISRESPECTING ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU DO NOTHING BUT CAUSE TROUBLE. YOU ARE A MESS AND YOU NEED TO FUCKING CONTROL YOUR LIFE!" The shrill and strident voice roared, "BITCH DON'T BE TELLING ME TO FUCK OFF WHEN ITS YOU THAT GOT ISSUES. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE? WORTHLESS! YOU HAVE NO VALUE, NO NOTHING. YOU AIN'T GOING NOWHERE IN LIFE WITH THAT LAZY ASS! SO YOU NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK OFF AND NOT BE SO FULL OF YOURSELF!"

"Go away!" I cried.

"I swear if I could, I would get a knife a stab it through your motherfucking heart!!" Mother barked.

I pressed my ears to the door until no sound of her prescence abided. Once in complete loud silence, I limped to my bed and sank. My heart drowned, my thoughts empty, my body in pain. My throat stifled, my chest throbbed. I could hear nothing but the echoes of her voice.

Failure. Worthless. Knife.

What have I become? Why was I nothing,  a waste? Why do all my attempts turn into failures? Why am a disappointment? Why was I born?

Ethan, this is what you failed to see. You couldn't see the anchor on top of me; you could never see the negative, venom that I was fed.

My world is full of woe, fiasco. Sometimes I wonder how I still live with all these put downs. I wonder how I still hold on to this hell of a life. Then I remind myself that it was you who kept  me going. You loved me and knowing that I was loved, gave me a bit of hope. Even if it was blind love, any kind of love was better in comparision to no love.

The best thing in this world, I realized, was to love and being loved.

Rosalie

P.S. We got a phone call today. It was from the police department, asking for all of us to come there tomorrow. The man said, "It is crucial that the girl by the name of Rosalie arrive at the station." I saw this voicemail message before anybody else could and I was the one who deleted it. I was petrified of what would happen next.