Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have survived childhood.
My mother hated me because I was not autistic like my younger brother and her, because I excelled in school, and my father adored me… but was also turning me against my mother for when he wasn’t around. When they divorced, my dad tried to “keep” my brother and me, but the court made us live with my mother. Even before I was 10, I was getting physically and emotionally abused by her because it was my fault they divorced. I deserved it because I was just like my dad. And no one believed the brainwashed child because mother is always right. I now had a baby sister who was taught to mistreat me because I deserved it. I spent my preteen and teenage years having the police called on me all the time because I looked at her wrong. I developed depression and anxiety, and was committed once during my junior high days, but I was told my suicidal thoughts were just for attention. I ended up having to leave senior high school because of a chronic illness, and I was just a highschool dropout. All those years of perfect grades and I was now worthless. I was still hated because everything bad that happened to her was my fault. She dated a guy who almost killed me, but it was still always my fault because I didn’t respect him. I was committed again, but this time just so I could get away from him. I could have died. I should have.
Now I’m an adult. I have chronic depression, chronic anxiety, physical disabilities that will never be corrected perfectly, chronic medical conditions… And I am still hated by my mother. Because I wasn’t special needs enough. Because I’m just lazy and faking my conditions. Because I survived. I cannot even keep friendships because I am too messed up for everyone. I have to live with her because I cannot work to get my own place, and she’s always trying to find a way to get rid of me. I’m not suicidal, but I wish I had died.
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The pain is great and forgiveness is far, existence itself is a death by a thousand cuts and the path ahead appears riddled with shattered glass. Yet take a second my battered friend, take a second to stop and feel your lungs fill with air. Realize that this is proof that you are not only alive, but that at your core, long as your lungs still yearn for air, your will to live has not yet abated. Oblivion awaits at the end for everyone, but you are here with us, standing together in the darkness, unable to see the horizon. Lost, yes, but hopeless, no. Though we may be blinded by our insecurities, our anxiety, or our inner demons the horizon still awaits us. Out of site, yes, but gone, no. My child, the path will bleed you, but you are not alone. Out there are those who stumble in the dark with you, perhaps just out of touch. The derelict masses, nobody will weep for us. So then, friend, I will weep for you, and I hope you will do the same for me so that someday we may meet and share a gentle smile when we finally see each other’s faces on the other side of that horizon. Until then, just close your eyes and feel your lungs fill with air.