Would a person die when he’s dead?
Or would he only feel more pain?
I knew I’m already suffering from depression a year ago but it’s only last week that I started to hurt myself physically. It just happened. I don’t even know when or how something sharp came into my hand to slit my wrists. All I know is that I shove it on my skin and felt the burning pain beneath. And that it felt so good. To finally feel the pain. To finally divert my attention on my bleeding wrist rather than what I feel inside.
It was the time my brother came to yell at me for being the most brainless human being to have ever lived on land (not that he said that exactly, English isn’t our main language). It’s not as if I’m not used to him telling me the meanest things one could ever tell his sister. What I don’t understand is why does he have to shove those awful things right on my face. He always tell me I do what I do to make him look bad, to make him the bad guy in front of my parents. What’s ironic is that he isn’t a bad brother in front of our parents. He is when our parents aren’t around.
Four years ago, when we were about 12 and 13 (he’s a year older than I am), he would always throw punches at me and kick me and say awful things at me. He would always put the blame on me. Make me see that it’s always my fault whenever something bad happens. He has a way to rub it on my face and actually make me feel guilty even for the things I know isn’t my fault. He’s just so good in making me feel so bad for myself that I started to see myself as how he sees me–Failure. Stupid. Dumb. Weak. A sister he wished he never had.
Perhaps I can grant him at least one of those.
Even if I succeed, I would also see myself a failure. Even if I become even way more intelligent, I would always be the dumb and stupid sister of his. Even if I’d become stronger and braver, he would always find a way to make me look weak. All of those I call myself because I started to actually see myself the way he does.
Yet there’s still one left. If I die. If only I can vanish. If I just disappear.
He would get one wish granted. He would never have to see me again.
I know I can’t do it. Not yet.
But perhaps someday.
When I’m ready. When it’s time.
11 comments
If you need someone to talk to I’m here I also offer text hugs because I just do.
I’m really sorry that your brother is crushing you like that, I’m really bad at consoling people.. just know that I have ears and I can listen if you need to vent.
I’m not very good in comforting other people too, maybe that’s why I can’t help myself either. Anyway, thank you. It’s nice to hear someone care that much for someone he/she doesn’t even know. 🙂 I must say I rant a lot sometimes to clear my head. I hope it won’t annoy you too well.
He’s a bully and an asshole and very mentally ill. I’m sorry.
We may not be in good terms but I still feel a bit uncomfortable when people call him names. Yes, I know I’m being the hypocrite here after just telling a bunch of people what he does to me. 🙁 I don’t know why I still care for him this much no matter how many times he has hurt me. I don’t know and it’s the kind of question I’d never want to know the answer to.. But anyway, I understand what you mean. And I have to admit, those names suit him pretty well. (Am I being so much of a fraud here for saying contradicting things?)
No you are not a fraud!
I loved and hated at the same time. It’s very human!
And yes, I shouldn’t have called him names. He certainly seems to be mentally ill. That is not name calling.
My religion forbids violence, so just about everyone that engages in violence seems mentally ill to me.
There are so many people I’ve seen at SP that have had similar experiences, I’ve gotten to the point that I automatically assume that telling your parents would only cause more problems?
Is he the oldest son?
Any large cities nearby? Places with domestic abuse support groups?
We’re the only two children in the family. He’s seventeen, only a year older than I am yet I’ve always felt like I’m the more matured one. I’ve never really considered telling our parents. Once, I tried to but he only seemed to find his way through my head and told me what a coward I am, and that I’m not just trying to get our parents attention but that I also want to make him look bad to them. And I know that if I ever tell my parents what he’s been constantly doing to me for years, it would only make him want to hurt me more.
Yep. Yes. I figured.
Well, something is driving his anger. Maybe being the eldest son is putting too much pressure on him. Your parents perhaps expect him to do great things and he isn’t ready for it.
You are the smart one. He calls you stupid. Pretty standard. He’s obsessed about looking bad or weak in front of your parents because he feels weak and incompetent inside. No big stretch there. He weilds power over you cruelly because he feels powerless. That story is thousands of years old.
I have absolutely no fucking clue how to deal with someone like that. Sorry.
Time to go to school overseas? Like a student exchange program?
It’s alright. And thank you. I’ve never really talked to anyone about my situation and it makes me feel so much better to actually be able to release all the rage inside. 🙂
Overseas? Despite how much I want to escape and leave everything behind, I don’t think it’s something I’ll be able to do anyway.
Glad to listen!
You’re smart. Your command of English is flawless. You know how paragraphs work. You are young.
You can do anything you want. Except play the trombone. We don’t allow trombones here.
In a few hours I’m sure others will chime in with their thoughts. Maybe someone will have some better ideas.
That’s very nice of you to say. Thank you. And I’m also sorry I replied late. Our school held a camping for two days–one of the happiest things to have ever occurred in my life recently.
It’s been nice talking to you. You’ve been such a great company to me, I’m sure you’ve got a golden heart inside that rib cage of yours. LMAO.
People often commend me for my “wise use of the English language” as they often say, especially that it isn’t the first language in our country. I guess I got it for reading books (that eventually led to my love for writing novels), another thing that helps me cope with my depression. 🙂
I’m a big fan of narratives. Another reason I like it here.