What is Love?

When I was younger, I was molested and beaten almost daily by my older sister who I idolized and looked up to. My parents would blame me for her violent episodes, saying that I provoked her. Whenever I would fight back, I’d be punished, by spankings with a belt, or they would take away things that were important to me.
Later on, my sister told my parents that I was the one who instigated the molestation. It was a very, very shameful night, me, sitting at the table with my family, my sister crying crocodile tears of guilt at 15 years of age, and me, who was 12, trying to explain why I was so fucked up.
She told because she needed to be absolved of the guilt she had. She had molested me since I was seven years old. My parents spoiled her, but would not even give me an allowance. Up until this, I had quit fighting her. I let her beat me. I let them blame me for everything, and to a point, I believed it to be true. Everything bad that happened was my fault, and because of my social awkwardness and distrust of my peers, the bullying not only haunted me at home, but followed me to school. I put on weight because I had no energy to do anything but read to escape the torment. I would go hide in the woods, until my mom made me come home. I did chores, put dinner on the table, took care of my younger siblings, and was a great student, all A’s despite everything I had endured. I wanted to go to college to get out of the hell that was home.
After my sister outed me for her abuse, my parents treated me like a freak and quit communicating with me. Mom had serious issues. She suffered depression and had bouts of rage, would beat me and yell at me, and her favorite game was calling me lazy or lardbutt, or just tell me how worthless i was as a daughter. I couldn’t go to other kids’ houses because I was odd. I didn’t know how to interact with people, as my parents had been overprotective, or, more or less wanted the abuse kept secret.
I grew, graduated high school, became a moral and good Christian girl. I worked hard from the time i was old enough to have a job, working two and three jobs at a time to save up, but never really saving. I bought the kids clothes, took my family out to eat, showered them in gifts and things because I really felt that if I gave them everything I had, they would love me. It didn’t work.
Things kept going crazy, escalating as I started college. My parents had argued with the counselor because of an incident with my older sister, so I found getting help for college very hard. I had no idea what I was doing when I applied for scholarships, and despite my good grades, I remained naive with the ways of the world and dealing with people. I didn’t get that many scholarships, and I only made a 27 on my ACT, one point below what I needed for a full ride. I began school with the promise from my father that as long as I kept my grades up and finished school, he would pay the balance.
As usual he lied. Dad couldn’t save to save his life, even though he had a decent job as a Registered Nurse, he had his own problems with his family, and had isolated my extended relatives on both sides. Dad’s paranoia, and his excessive spending and eating habits, caused him to be unable to plan for something like my education, so when it came time for him to pay the balance, he was irritable and made me feel guilty for taking his hard earned money.
Mom was no help either. Both my parents were so caught up in their own hardships and relationship issues that they never saw me suffering, and it didn’t help because of my Pollyanna attitude. No matter what happened, I always tried to make the best of it, and my friends always thought of me as that weird, curly headed chick who had everything together. No one saw the abuse. My cousins were jealous of me and spread nasty rumors about me in high school. I couldn’t get boyfriends because everyone thought I was gay, and I really didn’t care what they thought. I am a self-made pillar of attitude and strength.
But, as things go, my third year in college was complete and I was about to go back to school to finish up, and my mom kicked me out on my butt. I had only what I could fit into the cab of a pickup, and was homeless for a while before finding an income based apartment that rushed me in because I was a heart case. I worked two jobs until I found a job in a nearby city, where I became a store manager and ran the store for almost three years comfortably and with minor incident.
Then I got my third new boss, and he turned into exactly what I had struggled to get away from all the years I was at home. He was a manipulative, hateful, bully of a man who would compliment you on Friday and by Monday you were so worthless you couldn’t get a coke vendor to put a sign on his display. Of course, instead of being prolific, I began to go back into my shell of self-doubt that I had lived in when I was younger, and began letting store conditions fall because I had no energy to fight a losing battle. He didn’t like me, and that was it. I left my job after a knee injury to lose weight, focus on my health, and took a job in a kitchen.
I thought it was the answer, but no, it wasn’t. The boss there was more manipulative and catty. I got tripped several times, told I was the slowest one there, told that I couldn’t cook, she wouldn’t allow me to cook because I burned some things being new to the kitchen. Two girls there gave me hell, and one stole my keys to my car. I was making half the salary I was used to, and my older sister, remember the molester, was the HR rep. I spent $140 to get the locks changed on my car and to get a new key.
My boss cut my hours. The bully said I pushed her, and I went up the ladder of the open door trying to find help, which resulted in a meeting with everyone in the kitchen crucifying me. Literally, everyone had something bad to say about me. My boss told me she was forcing my two week notice, and I called her bluff. The biggest bully got arrested for three counts of possession for narcotics, meth, and marijuana, so my boss fired her. Things got better for a while.
In January I fell against the stove, burned the skin off my right forearm, then fell back and caused my back to have a bulging disc. I was out thirteen days and put on restrictions, light duty work, and my boss treated me like I wasn’t hurt at all.
Things got worse as I got taken into the office and coached on hygiene. I was the kicking post in the kitchen, just like I had been the kicking post at home, and everyone’s blame all. Because I was so psychologically damaged, I didn’t even have the heart to fight it. They said I stunk, so ok, I stink. I began washing myself furiously, taking off the hide in places, brushing my teeth until the gums were raw.
I explained to my boss I had PCOS and a bleeding issue because of that, and that it might be the blood smell that they were talking about. It could kill me, but it hasn’t yet, and oh God, I wish it would. She told the others about it, apparently, because I got feedback from them and a lot of questions I had to answer. I was mortified.
Loss of blood and my injury weakened me to the point I developed pneumonia. I had to be taken out of work a week, and while I was out I called my boss to tell her I might be taking a job as a truck driver, because my sister told me I needed to let her know what I was considering. She took me off the schedule and told everyone I quit.
Now, I’m fighting for my unemployment, and because of my two past bosses blackballing me, I am having a hell of a time finding a job. Because I was kicked out, I didn’t finish school. I live alone, and I can’t trust anyone. I don’t have a good relationship with any of my family because of my parents, and my parents probably won’t help me when my savings run out.
I’m scared, and I want to die. I fought, so hard, all of these years, went from homelessness to managing a million dollar business, and then back to living in the gutter. What’s the point of trying if it is taken away from me by the unfeeling, hating actions of others? Add to this I have a blind Yorkshire Terrier who has no one but me, because he’s so ugly. What will he do when I’m gone? No one wants him. I have a pittbull mix who is as sweet and lazy and good-natured as can be, but no one wants her because of the pittbull stigma. I have an old dog who was shot by my schitzophrenic uncle when I was younger, so she became violently protective of me. They will surely kill her because she is crazy to anyone but me. And there’s my cat, a little kitten left in a box at the dumpster where I worked. He’s five now, has been with me so long, and here I am, letting them all down, and as always the voice in my head tells me, “They’re going to win!”
IF I die, they win, but I am so very tired of my entire life having been a struggle. What’s the point?