Ever since I was born, I have always been a shy person. I would try to ignore my own feelings to help others. In fact, I was forced to at such a young age since my friends were all a few months younger than me. Therefore, since I was the eldest, I was the one who got reprimanded and to my young mind, did everything wrong. This idea was reinforced by my mother shouting at both me and my dad a lot. My dad and her yelled at each other every night. They tried to hide it from me, but I was a poor sleeper. I heard everything, but I would bottle up my fear of my parents getting a divorce, etc. I would just lay in bed every night hugging my blanket for support until I was finally lulled to sleep. Additionally, she claims that she did not shout too much at me, but that is a lie. I remember each time she shouted at me; whenever I did something stupid or childish, she would let go of her anger for the week, and then, she would yell at me for being such a crybaby. However, I was used to her teasing her as such and calling me names like “Stupid”, “Crybaby”, etc. She simply would say she was prepping me for bullies at school. That did not stop the pain behind the words. In fact, it only intensified the pain since it was my mother, someone I loved, saying the hurtful words. Still, I knew that my mother was justified. It is not her fault she has a hopeless child.
She was right about one thing though: it did prepare me for school as I learnt to hide my feelings and simply study. My mother and father would teach me at home in Pre-K and Kindergarten as I went to an advanced school with so many extracurricular. I did not really mind though (except that it allowed for more opportunities for my mother to yell at me) since I loved to learn. It all intrigued me, and I ended up learning the capitals and states as well as multiplication and division in Kindergarten. I was a loner though, so I decided to go to public school 1st grade onwards. The different setting did not help though. If anything, it made my life worse.
I really was the loner then. At least before, I was a loner doing things that intrigued me, but at this new school, I had learnt the content before, and everybody basically hated me or pretended they did. I was the definition of the teacher’s pet, a friend repellent. Sadly, I am not even exaggerating. In 2nd grade, a substitute teacher came in to our class constantly (since she was the teacher’s wife). She loathed me. She would tell me to “Shut up”, and she had long fingernails that would constantly tap on her desk and scratch onto the blackboard. She told me upright: “Stop asking questions. It is kids like you that are the a reason that everybody has extra homework.” It hurt me too much, and I became shunned in class. This continued onto 3rd grade as I accidently severely hurt somebody physically, and everybody thought of me as the monster.
It was not until the end of 4th grade that I made friends that were not my family friends. I never really hung out with them as I played with rocks and preferred to stay inside alone at recess. I was not used to having friends. Yet, I did start talking to people a bit, and I survived the rest of elementary school with them. However, it did not really change my life. People still verbally bullied me and excluded me from their groups. I remained the teacher’s pet as I started to feel sad. Everything hurt emotionally. My home life and my school life were filled with people constantly mad at me. My only escape was TV which I watched as much as possible, even when doing my homework. That changed in middle school though.
In middle school, I obtained more friends, but that was when the bullying was at its maximum. Why wouldn’t it be with a loser like me? In 6th grade, I was still desperately alone, clinging onto one good friend who I always talked to. I heard people talk about me at times, and it was not pleasing. One of my family friends even said that “I would love to be anybody except her [referring to me] if I could. She is literally the ugliest girl in the world.” In 7th grade, one of my ‘friends’ used me as a standard for his grades, bagging on me if I got a lower grade than him and scoffing at me if I got a higher one. He would peek at all my grades and torment me with them no matter how much I hate competition and grades. Also, another guy would tease me constantly everyday, mostly concerning my innocence with anything involving sex. This continued into 8th grade, and even though I never got physically bullied, each insult was like a gunshot to my heart.
On top of that, school got harder. I did not know most of the stuff I learnt, allowing for an interesting year academically though I was no longer at the top of my class. Also, each teacher had 100 or so students, and I had 8 teachers, so I was no longer the teacher’s pet. I was nobody in a world of somebodies. I wanted (and I still want) to become a doctor, but with my grades and social skills, it felt impossible (and to be honest, it still does). That was when I finally started to get suicidal thoughts: the end of 6th grade.
From 7th grade onwards, I became widely concerned about my image. I started acting more social, trying to get rid of the terrible thought in my mind. I constantly smiled and wiggled into conversations in a struggle to be happy. I pretended the insults did not hurt me. However, everyday when I was at home, I would start crying. Everything felt so fake. Nobody even noticed, including my parents (though they started ignoring me when I was in 2nd grade for my younger brother who earns compliments for things I got yelled at), how much I was struggling to live and resist the urge to kill myself. I was in denial at times, trying to live in my mask as if it were my real face and sacrificing my books for friends. However, it simply became too much 3 years later in the end of 9th grade.
High school was even harder than middle school. Everyone apparently teased each other for fun. School takes over everyone’s life (though my mother insisted I do more things around the house and outside when I did not have any time). In short, I regretted ever wanting to come to high school, especially since that was when I broke apart. In the end of 9th, I was trying to escape from my mother’s insults when I was forced to tell my doctor I was depressed and basically a knife away from killing myself. Then, she informed my parents, and out of comfort, I tried to contact one of my friends who informed the school counselors and abandoned me. Long story short, I missed weeks of school being stuck in a mental hospital with one piece of advice from my parents: “Pretend to be happy”.
Everything else was a blur. I got a therapist and a psychiatrist (who I stopped going to because the meds never worked, and all I felt like doing was overdosing). I also ended up telling a few of my friends (2 of them know without my consent, and I desperately wish they did not know whilst the other 2 I willingly told after attempts of suicide). I realized that my level of anxiety is not normal, and I have been suffering from major depression for the past 4 years of my life. However, everyone just expects me to become happy, and that is not possible. Now, in school, I am being categorized as ‘special needs’, and I hate it. Then again, I guess it will help me though I probably have to kiss my chances of going to the best medicine school ever and becoming a successful doctor good bye.
Honestly, I am not terrified anymore. I am ready to kill myself. Just give me a gun, and I swear I will shoot myself in less than a second. I am done with life. I am done with trying. I am done with ruining other’s lives. Everybody thinks I am so happy and strong, but I am not. The only thing that can make me truly smile anymore is the thought of killing myself(the pain, the blood, the peace). I just cannot take anymore. I have accepted the consequences. Really, the only reason I am not dead now is because people are restricting me from things I could kill myself with. I do not care if it is painless anymore. I just do not want to survive. Everybody would be happier anyway, not just me. I mean, I have attempted before, but the scar on my chest is not deep enough because the knife I used was pathetic. The burns on my body do not kill me. Paper bags, blankets, etc. do not suffocate a person. And I have never touched a gun in my life or even seen one in real life for that manner.
But what other than failure do you expect from a hopeless child?