Just An Ounce Of Hope

Chapter 6: Fueling The Fire

  Alex & Sierra - Little Do You Know

  For the rest of 2016 and 2017 I hated myself. Those words that my parents said to me whenever they were enraged at me and my mistakes repeated in my mind. "You're nothing! You're worthless! How are you even your fathers child? How are you my child?"

  Those words might have been words of anger, but I had already deeply absorbed them by the time my parents stopped being angry. You say that actions speak louder than words but what if those words are racist, or disgusting? Words can be worse, because words drive people to suicide, depression, etc. My grandfathers death and my parents words almost drove me to suicide. But then they also made me realize that I can do better, that suicide wasn't the way nor an option for me. I personally dug a grave for myself because I felt worthless, empty, afraid, confused, hurt, and flawed to a point where I wanted to end my life. To a point where to this day I still put on a happy face when that isn't my true emotions. I haven't truly showed my true emotions towards my parents or my family because honestly, it's useless. I'm afraid that once I do, they won't care or they'll give me that snotty pity.

  I'm too afraid to show my emotions to anyone because I believe that once I trust them fully, they'll just put a pity face on and say sorry. I've always hated when people gave me sympathy and such, because I'm not used to it. Whenever I'm at some sort of family gathering there is always a group of adults who say, "Are you okay? Why are you so mad?" When I wasn't mad at all, well until they actually accused me of being angry all the time it makes me want to punch them or tell them off.

  I pretty much hid in the shadows after my grandfather died and soon became invisible to everyone around me. I was still eleven at the time when I had suicidal thoughts. I thought that the world would be better off without me. My parents made it seem like I was a burden and I soon believed that I was too. While I had these thoughts in my brain, I closed myself off from others and it became so simple to me. Since I just began middle school, I was able to avoid everyone, because I didn't know anyone. I felt alone but it was a good feeling. I felt like I could be me without anyone seeing the real me. 

  After I spent years to myself, I noticed things that made me hate myself. I saw how flawed I was and how pathetic I looked. I hated myself even more and I had no self love left. Loving yourself is simple, some say, but it's so difficult when I've always had such self hatred towards myself before all of this. You know, I still do but I try not to focus on it because in the end I'll just hate myself even more. Words can't describe how much I hate myself and despise myself. When I think back about how I had suicidal thoughts, I'm thankful that I never attempted suicide because what if it was successful? Those suicidal thoughts made me realize how much I feared after life. Even when I'm completely fine with dying, I'm afraid of the result. What if I don't reincarnate? What if I forget my past life and memories? What if they disappear forever? What if my entire mind is wiped and everything's pitch black? What will I do then?

  The past me would have expected me to love myself and get to know myself. Here I am today, and I have no self love and I don't know anything about myself. What is my favorite color? What is my favorite food? My favorite drink? My favorite subject in school? Etc. I have no clue. Have I tried to get to know my self and learn more about who I am individually? Yes, but once I take a step forward something always stops me and prevents me from learning more.

  Of course there were plenty of elements that fueled my depression and such. I don't even know if I have depression, honestly I might not. I'm too afraid to open up to anyone to a point where I don't want to talk to my doctor about it, or my friends. After my grandfather passed, the people who also mourned his death grew to heal from it. It felt like I was the only one who wasn't healing. I turned more into the black sheep of the family. Every now and then they'd joke around asking me if I missed him. "Oh she doesn't miss him anymore! She forgot about him." my uncle would say to everyone. On the outside people say that I was emotionless and that it didn't phase me. On the inside, I was breaking. Piece by piece I began to break again until my body ached, but no one knew. They would laugh and laugh like it was some kind of hilarious joke. Like he meant nothing to me. Little did they know that this made me hate them even more. This made me want to hide my emotions even more and it made me not want to see them ever again. I wanted them to disappear and vanish. It made me furious about how normal they were when I wasn't able to. It made me furious how they could say something so horrendous thinking that it wouldn't hurt me. I wanted to scream and say "Why do you think this is funny? I'm still suffering and I can still feel that pain that I felt when you told me he was dead at 1:42 in the morning! Was his death that easy for you to process? Unfortunately you didn't live with him from when you were a few months old and that you didn't love him enough. I did. I feel that pain, head on and you don't. It's been four years and I still can't process it because I'm afraid to. But you think it's some kind of sick joke."

  As a result of distancing myself from the world, my relationship and bond with my brother began to fade. Cam went on with his life and I stayed put. Our relationship became invisible to a point where we never spoke to one another even when he still lived in the same house as me. Today my parents and family think that they know me. They always say that I like this, this is my favorite, this and that isn't. How can they know all about me when I don't know anything about myself? I hate when people state some statement about me that's like a fact when they're completely wrong because not even I know who I am.

Maybe I have anger issues mixed in with depression and anxiety, maybe. It's just a guess, but I'll never truly know.

11.30.2020