Frosted Windows

I'm OK

My life is... just so difficult. Especially now.

Mark doesn't know this but, I've had constant anxiety and depression for three years.

My parents don't even know...

I've been keeping it from them for so so long. And I hope they never ever find out.

Now you're probably thinking 'Mark probably loves you a lot too and wants to be a good big brother and help so you should tell him!'

Nonononono!

Of all people, I don't want him knowing. Not him. Ever.

If he found out that I have scars on my legs and arms, self harm almost every day, tried to commit suicide five times... he'd freak out!
And I don't want that.

I don't want him to have to feel like he owes me something. I don't want him to waste his time on trying to fix me. I don't want him worrying over me. I just wanna go away.

It actually all started when I was 5....I remember it so vividly. That's when I started losing all confidence in myself.

I was homeschooled for elementary grades so my mom would be watching over me while Mark went to school. Whenever I got some schoolwork wrong, she'd throw a fit and pull me downstairs.

The house was always so cold those days when I got into trouble.

She'd make me stand for as long as an hour, just listening to her talk about how dumb and stupid I am...

(I just wanna put this out there that... the lovely Momiplier is not in this fanfic for the sake of the story going the way it will. She's too good for this fanfic lil)

And there was one day...

One day, I had gotten some math problems wrong and I couldn't figure out how to fix them. She pulled me into the dimly lit kitchen and yelled about school and me just like any other day. Then she tried to ask me how I should fix it, again and again and again.

Of course I couldn't answer properly. I was a crying child in fear of what she would do to me. I kept saying "I don't know" since... I really didn't know. I was five years old for crying out loud!

But I was taught to never talk back to my parents. Never blame it on someone else. It's always my fault.

I kept quiet, sniffled, hiccuped, cried more...

She kind of lost it and spanked me too many times to count.

"You're such a useless child!"

She kept spanking me again and again.

The physical pain on my five year old bum hurt so much I didn't even think about those words.

I never understood why parents tell you to shut up and be quiet and stop crying, when they keep spanking you with as much force as they can put into their swings. Don't they know that it hurts? Then why do they tell me to stop crying as if it doesn't?

After a long night of crying in my bedroom my mind replayed that scene over and over again. Those cruel words she spat at me... they started to sink in and, started to hurt even more than the spankings.

I'm a...useless child.

Another time I had some kind of memory quiz when I was 9. It was held at a community center. My dad was there watching me, so when it came to my turn, of course he was anticipating for the best.

I couldn't remember anything.

The girl before me remembered three things from the subject.

That night my dad pulled me over by the collar of my shirt and hissed at me."YOU! Why can't you remember anything?! That girl remembered THREE! And what did you remember!?! NONE!" He yelled as whispered as he could.

My lips started to quiver. My eyes began to water.

"WHY CANT YOU MEMORIZE ANYTHING HUH!? WHY CANT YOU DO BETTER?!"

I still often wonder why I can't remember things... why I can't do better.
No matter how hard I try.

When I was 10, I was put into a private school. There was a transfer student who became my best friend. We were best friends for about two years. She was so nice and often said that I was the only one who understood her.

But then she got tired of me.

I was always too shy... I mumbled every sentence I spoke to anyone... I thought she understood me too since we were quite similar.

Well, she started spreading rumors and gossiping about me with every student I knew or associated with. She lied to me and made me feel like everything was my fault.

Maybe it was.

She cut off our relationship by stopping all conversation or even so as looking at me.

I kept giving her second chances, and tried to be nice about the things she did when confronting her but...

She was truly a toxic friend.

When I turned 11, I started getting acne. Of course, since I'm a preteen i'd be self conscious. But never have I ever felt so bad about my face ever... until I turned 14.

A boy in my school who was only in grade 4, came up to me and asked why it looks like I have chicken pox on my face.

I never disliked a little kid so badly until then. I cried about it so much when I got home.

But I'm glad I had an acquaintance who was right there when the little kid came up to me. He tried to defend me but the kid didn't listen. He just walked away.

He never apologized either.

Now I'm in 11th grade and living with my big brother in LA. The students here are... okay. No one talks to me or even gives a look of recognition.

I'm all alone.

Our parents didn't really care about that though, but of course they were okay with it since Mark's their favourite child. He's successful and an adult. Though he seems to have a mental age of 7.

Well... today is October 23. 23 more days until my birthday. 23 more days to live. 23 more days until I finally...

Go away