Stress

You’re most likely wondering why I so boldly asked for you to read this post. Well, I did so because I have something to say that I believe will benefit you, no matter if this site applies to you or not.

I’ve had an unbelievable amount of personal experiences in my life that in reality could have shattered me from the start but instead, here I am writing this post. I’m not going to tell you that your life will automatically improve after this, or that you will immediately see a change, but what I hope that it will help you in some way shape or form. From an open-minded and accepting friend, I hope you will learn from my experiences as I have learned from others.

~I promise you that nothing I say below is untrue nor exaggerated~

My mother was (and still is) a huge administrator of emotional abuse. She made me and my sibling’s lives a living hell. When I was really little, she and my dad were always working and when they did come home, my dad would shout and stomp and my mom would shriek and scream. My dad was on some heavy medication (presently I believe they were prescription steroids and narcotics) for his back because of his 13 surgeries (he’s always had medical issues. It’s just the way his body works). We were afraid around my dad and around my mom, she would just complain and yell about my dad. They fought constantly and it became fairly normal.

That being said, my grandma raised us three alone for the most part. We lived in a nice house, but were constantly called spoiled brats because of it. People at school made me feel guilty for wearing nice clothes all the time. I didn’t care about those nice things though… (I came to want only to be loved, but that comes later). The three of us fought a lot and were yelled at, but that was a result of not being supervised enough.

Our grandfather was a religious nut who was kicked out of multiple churches for arguing with the pastor over the type of bible they used. He walked to the city every day just to hand out bible tracks. Every time he said goodbye, he would add “guess who loves you the most?” and after we would of course HAVE to say God, he would say “Yeah! That’s right!”. Every other religion was the devil’s religion. Nonreligious music and non-christian books were pagan. One time I wore a two piece swimsuit to his pool and he told me I wasn’t allowed to swim looking like a whore (I was in 5th grade).

Starting from first grade onward, as the oldest, I was the first to face the jaws of elementary school, where according to mom, I had to be the best in everything or there was no point to doing it and you were a failure. I was pressured to get A’s on everything and to be the best at sports and at music. I played soccer, basketball, and then softball where I settled and still play today. I only had one friend and she was my everything. We did everything together and shared everything. So while I whirled around in a sea of advanced papers, practice two times a week, games on weekends, and viola lessons each week, she stood by me. In third grade I secluded myself after we weren’t in the same class. I had no one and after getting glasses, my self confidence plummeted. The yelling became worse. The screaming, the degradation. I just wasn’t socially adaptable. Sorry mom. My recesses were better spent inside doing multiplication and reading the Twilight series anyways.

In fourth grade, I got contacts and started making more friends (a few acquaintances) and in fifth grade, my best friend was back. We weren’t as close, but we had a small group. I also found my first boyfriend, a tall handsome little boy with black hair who would send me “I kinda like you” letters which turned into “Goodnight I love you” texts in 6th grade. I still was socially awkward and had a hard time making friends, but it couldn’t be helped. My home stayed the same oppressive prison as always and my siblings were dragged down with it. My sister was even worse at making friends than I was, and my brother, little did I know yet, was turning into a rather rude and uncaring individual.

During the first year of middle school, I guess I sort of reverted back to my third grade days. I didn’t have a “true friend”, but I had my boyfriend… Who dumped me after the school dance. I cried, as all the heartbroken do, and got over it. So much for first loves.

Eighth grade was the year that completely changed everything. Immediately, I found myself whirled into an unlikely friend group of my current best friend who will never leave and is too amazing to explain (P), an almost-insane spunky girl (SE), an outrageously hilarious girl with a darker side (SA), and a smarter, more quiet, rational thinking girl (K). Together, we bonded over a private joke we created about a group of old ladies starring in our fictional movie “Rest in Pieces”, involving a murder, a clinically insane twin, and humor. We all had old lady names which we called each other. I was Petunia, P was Edith, SE was Gertrude, SA was Mildred, and K was Pearl. We were always together and always talked about things with each other. That year I also acquired a boyfriend (G). I was absolutely infatuated with him. He was tall, funny, strong, and cute (sorry to all of you readers who hate this sort of thing. You can skim it if you would like 😛 ). What drew me to him however, was how he always had people around him, yet hated the attention. His dad had just died the previous year and I wanted to help in whatever ways I could. He was my first serious boyfriend and at one point, though it sounds silly, I fell in love with him.

Funny thing is though, you only find out how much you love someone after they’re gone. SA flirted with him constantly and even though I told her to quit it three times, he broke up with me the Summer before high school started. On my birthday. First thing in the morning. Yeah… That wasn’t exactly my favorite birthday gift, seeing as he was my first kiss… I resented SA after that and when high school started, I didn’t talk to her. She knew it though and every morning while they were making out, I scooted right on past (and yes, they really did that and it was really that gross).

Things at home with my mom were coming to a boiling point. My dad was getting better as his last surgery had really helped him and finally he was back on his feet. He became happier and easier to talk to while my mom only screamed louder. She called me pathetic, lazy, stupid, ugly on the inside and out, fat, unbecoming, brat, *****, mute, rude, mean, idiot, nasty, ugly, arrogant, useless, antisocial, friendless, waste of talent, waste of money, hopeless, snotty, and other names. These were just the ones I had written down. At softball, which I played on year round on a travel team, I felt increasingly more pain every time I threw the ball. So much so that I was popping Advil like candy.

But at school, I fell for a boy with blond hair and misty green eyes in my history class. I still remember the day that he said he wanted to go to Japan and because I sat right next to him, I automatically piped in “really, me too!”. I just hoped he didn’t catch me staring at him too many times… But besides that, grade stress weighed down on me. I found out that high school wasn’t easy if you still want those A’s, and being in the gifted program only means you lose more sleep. Stress and anxiety did not help my arm pain and the situation back home.

Eventually, after multiple misdiagnosis’s, I finally found out that I had a torn ulnar collateral ligament and could ether get a Tommy John surgery, or never play softball again. Seeing as I had already invested so much time into the sport, I decided to get the surgery. On January 12th of 2015, I woke up from a successful surgery, but with 3 little ugly scars, one gruesome big winding scar, and a hulking cast. I partially blamed my mom for the surgery seeing as every time I told her it hurt, she wrote it off as an excuse and sent me back out on the field to damage it some more. Over that post-operation period, none of my friends contacted me (except for P who asked once how I was doing).

I went in a few days later to take my finals which I had missed. I took my algebra 2 and honors history finals while on narcotics and ended with A’s which I was happy with. But when I was permanently back, things started to turn around for the boy with blond hair and I (J). We began to talk and I fell for him more and more (sorry readers who don’t like sappy romance, but he plays and important role!). Eventually he became my boyfriend and while G and SA made out in the open hallway, we sat at the end and just talked to each other. Sometimes he would even bring me breakfast and I would in return bring him some as well.

We talked about where we wanted to travel, about politics (rarely), about our favorite music (he liked country, I liked classical, alternative, and soundtracks), about TV (which mainly consisted of anime because I’m the biggest closet anime fan anyone will ever know… Inuyasha anyone?), and many other things. We were best friends who happened to really like each other and that like eventually turned into love. He was the first boy I ever let do more than kiss (disclaimer, we both kept everything below the waist on, I repeat, pants on people!). But I felt good about it, not ashamed. I did it because I trusted him.

When Summer came, we were both busy me with sports, him with camps and trips and such. When we did get together though, we did fun things. He took me to a wolf preserve and on my birthday, gave me pale lavender roses and a beautiful silver necklace that I treasured and took with me to Europe. Things were especially great when he came down to the beach with my family and one night I snuck into his room and we JUST laid together (nothing more… I just always wanted to fall asleep in a boy’s arms…) . Waking up early, I slipped back into the other room and to this day, I treasure that memory with all my heart.

But when 10th grade started up, we had no classes together. I found out that SA and G had broken up as well. She and I reconciled and our friends were whole again. Things quickly turned for the worst though, when I joined a new team with an abusive, loud, drill sergeant of a coach who made us do conditioning until we felt like we were going to vomit and made each of us cry at least one practice. I got a new viola teacher after outgrowing the other one, but he made me feel like I was doing everything wrong and wasn’t good enough… I didn’t practice for the months I was with him. 10th grade was even more work than 9th grade and I began to get anxiety attacks as things at home heated up again and again. So I broke up with J to save him from the burden of my life. I cried while doing it and after he hugged me, I knew I had made a mistake. I knew it but didn’t say anything. Instead, I cut my long hair and cried.

And cried. And cried. And had a panic attack. And cried. And then I learned that SA had been sexually abused by G and had attempted to end her life. She cut her wrists frequently and had tried to jump off of a roof. As messed up as I was, I tried to help her all that I could. We became close and bonded over our love of Studio Ghibli and view of life. I had somehow prolonged her life and in doing so, mine as well.

In February of 2016, I went to J and asked for him back only for him to say no. He said it would be best if we remained friends. Immediately after that I learned that he had gotten a new girlfriend, a girl a year older than him who in all unbiased honesty, was not as pretty, not athletic, not as smart, and just not prominent in any way besides the fact that she played the same instrument as him (which is percussion…).

A little before that, my sister declared that she didn’t want to be a girl and she didn’t really want to be a boy, but a boy was better than being a girl; She was transgender. My dad and I were quick to accept and support her while my mother constantly fought and yelled at her. To this day she still yells. And we’re seeking help as much as we can for my sister through therapy and support groups. My sister’s a lot happier than before, but all of her progress gets pushed back by my mother.

Not being able to deal with the stress of life, I took to cutting. I cut off the safeguards of a daisy razor blade and slid it across my wrists. It actually didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. But the next day I was so ashamed of what i had done. I partially covered it with bracelets and hoped no one would question it (which they didn’t much to my relief). I eventually even contemplated a means to an end. SA found out though and she told me not to. She pleaded with me and recently, I decided to quit all of it. Boys aren’t worth it, mothers aren’t worth it, no one is worth that kind of pain. If J would settle for someone like that, then hell, I’m sure there’s a prince for me out there somewhere 🙂 And though my mother still yells, I now have the support of the rest of my family and look towards the days when I will leave this house of unforgiveness and pave my own path in the world. One full of acceptance and kindness towards those who need it most.

I learned that living is one hell of a struggle. But without those hardships, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the good in life as I do now. I wouldn’t be able to understand others like my sister and SA. Wouldn’t be able to interact and connect with others as I can now. Some can’t push through those adversities though, and I’ve learned that that’s why people need to stop with all of the fronts, all of the acts. Stop being selfish and materialistic and start caring about others. We’re all just people. No one is any better than anyone else, and everyone has their own purpose. I am a firm believer in this. I myself am not perfect, but it’s those imperfections that push me forward.

If you’re still here and lasted to the end of that long speech, I applaud you and hope that my story can help you with your own.

Here’s SA’s own website for additional story insight: https://diffidentdaydreamssite.wordpress.com/

Here’s my email as well if you ever wanted to ask questions privately or just need a friend to talk to: nightfawn10@gmail.com

Thank you, and I wish you all good luck in your journey.

~A