The Story Of My Life

Don't Cry

Yesterday my sister started crying. Idk what happened; she was in the living room and I was in my room, as always. A moment after she started crying I heard Tyler (my step dad and father of both my siblings) go into the living room. He asked her what happened and what was wrong in such a gentle, caring, compassionate way. She kept crying for a bit and he just gently consoled her. Hearing that I couldn't help but wonder why I wasn't treated so delicately. Even as a child I showed obvious signs of early depression and anxiety. I was a nervous and cautious child; very smart and mature for my age. My first word was "hello" at the age of 3 months. I knew what it meant, too, and how to use it. I remember being praised and admired for my brains and maturity. However I was a weak child. Just like Kayden (my sister) I cried over small, insignificant things. However I was treated much differently. As a baby I think I was cared for gently, as I couldn't take care of myself. Eventually I learned how to walk (it took awhile longer than the average child due to my lazy eye), form complete sentences, use bigger words, feed myself and entertain myself. Like I said, I was smart and mature, probably due to early depression, which is known to increase those aspects of a young person. Those became the minimum standards for me. I was raised to achieve nothing less than perfection. But my weakness was my downfall. Despite my caution in approaching the world, kids will be kids, they trip, they fall, they get hurt; I was no exception. I never cried for long, but I still did. Unlike my sister, however, my parents responded by yelling at me mostly. If there were no obvious injuries, I was fine, and needed to toughen up. Yelling has always scared me. As a result I've since developed a trigger to people raising their voices at me. It sends me into a severe panic. It was less severe earlier in my life, but it was enough to make me cry more, which often led to being grounded. In my early days, being grounded meant being put into the spare bedroom without my toys or blanket (my comforts). All the room had was a futon and bedding. I was bored, sad, and scared. I've blocked out most of those memories, but I do remember one instance quite clearly. I used to play hockey. We were having a free ice day, so parents were allowed to come out and just have fun. I wasn't a very good skater so I fell, crashed, cried, got yelled at for something (falling? Embarrassing them? Idk), was told to go get undressed, and when we got home I was locked in the room. Eventually my mom aggressively opened the door and thrust a plate of spaghetti into my hands and told me not to get any on the carpet. I was shakey and holding back tears. She slammed the door behind her and went downstairs and I broke. I cried as I ate but I didn't spill; I was scared of what would happen if I did. I'm still told sometimes about how good, mature and respectful I was as a kid. I always woke up first, fed myself, and turned on the tv so quietly that I had to strain to hear. Little do they know that I did that bc I was scared of being yelled at if I woke anyone up. Every now and again I look back at my childhood and see the early signs of all the illnesses that are now severe in my life. They've gotten worse over time but still. Even now that they know everything that's wrong with me, I'm still handled so roughly, especially when compared to how gently they handle my sister. I've never been interested in having human children, but sometimes I tell myself that if I ever did I'd be better to them than my parents were to me. But now that I think about it, that wouldn't work. My illnesses make me snappy to my sister most of the time, occasionally I'm just resigned to her, and very occasionally I'm gentle and nice. I don't mean to be, it just happens. Maybe it's a repercussion of how I was raised, or my illnesses or both. I wish I could be better. I'm always jealous of her. She's treated so much better than I ever was or am. The other day my gramma praised her spacial awareness in a game called Flow. The past couple days I've been playing a similar game. When I do I can't help but be bitter towards not only her but myself also. Deep down I know I'm being irrational. We're both rather smart, but she's 4, I'm 16. She hangs out in the living room, I hide in my room; of course she's gonna get more attention. Idek if I want it. I know Eliza (one of my alters) wants attention, but idk if I do, and I'm pretty sure Star doesn't (my other alter). Idk. I just wonder why she's treated so much better than me. Maybe they learned from their mistakes with me. After all, they were young when I was born; my mom was only 19. I was the trial run; the practice round of sorts. They're doing better this time. I just wish they'd do better with me too. I hope the baby on the way gets a good life; better than mine. A broken home is hard enough to live with, without everything else I dealt with. That was so ADD omg. If you read all that, thank you. I know it was long and hard to follow so I'm sorry for that. Please keep in mind that this was just focused on 1 recurring problem in my childhood; I didn't touch on all the good things that happened. No one remembers the good things though. And usually no one cares. Pain is more interesting. But I need to stop, I'm getting dizzy again. I'll update again as things come to mind. Thank you again. Ily❤️