I don’t know why. I have a chronic compulsion to die within me for the past years. Maybe it is because of my selfishness; I cannot accept my sister. Things are not the exact same and fair between us. That is unacceptable to me because I am adamant about how we must have the same treatment. Maybe it is because of how my parents screamed at me over the most trivial things, threw kettles of boiling water at me, hurled random objects across the room when they were angry – most of the time my mom being mad over my breach of her hard-to-achieve perfectionism. Everything must be spick and span, in the right orientation and all when she comes home from work. I must get full marks for my spelling tests, or else. I was only around 8 then, I cried almost every day. God forbid I don’t break anything, ever. Once I accidentally sat on a hairband and it broke. My mom hit me and shouted so much. Ever since I became so anxious doing everything because I am scared of breaking anything or doing anything wrong. Sometimes my parents are my parents, they are loving and nice. In those times I love them and could not wish for more. But most other times they impose their strict warped sense of perfection onto me. I lived every day in those years in fear of what was going to happen when my mom came home, of doing anything wrong. And then there came my sister, 10 years after me. My mom loved her. She messed up the whole house yet to her it is ok. During my time, just the remote control being a degree off would make her shout and scream. She screams and cries and messes up her bed, yet it is ok. I wasn’t even allowed to touch my mom’s bed after she made it because I will crumple the bed sheet. My mother changed for my sister so that she could grow up as a happy child, yet she could not do it for me. I grew up those years in constant fear and pressure to be perfect. I am who I am today because of her. I suffer like I do now, partly because of her. My father did nothing to stop my mother. Sometimes when he is angry he kicks me and shouts and screams. Do you understand now why I am a selfish brat that “can’t accept having a younger sister” and hates everyone in my family and even my home? Because I don’t know what I have done to deserve the treatment I got. Because of that now I hate myself to the core, I despise myself. I am chronically suicidal and empty; I can’t even pick myself up to do anything during the bad times. Do you think it is not painful when I slice into my own skin? It is. But why do I still do it? So that I can prolong my life just for a little bit more, every time I harm myself. If it were not for the fact that I feel sorry for my parents for having such a burden like me, and how they said they will really be heartbroken if I died, I undeniably would have killed myself a long, long time ago. They landed me in this state where I can’t bring myself to face my own mind or love myself. Yet I still feel sorry for them, for the hospital bills and the amount of worry I put them through. They have stopped and are trying to make up for what they have done but the past cannot be fixed. For the rest of the time on this earth I have to drag around my empty shell and the truckload burden of the past, crushing me. I don’t even know why I haven’t collapsed on myself yet. I cannot understand humans, and I never will. I live in my own world, my tiny bubble. I wish I can feel good at least sometimes, but I cannot. I don’t know how to live. I am a loser and a burden to my parents. I should just die. Yet I don’t just kill myself because… It is scary. but when I attempt and end up in hospital, my parents get so angry at me. They take away everything I have and cut off contact from anyone. They say it’s for my own good but how will taking away support and love from friends who care help? I do not understand.
Don’t pop my bubble. I will suffocate, like a fish out of water.