Here's a Fraction of My Life..

I've always wondered why my parents looked at me as such a disappointment..no matter what I do it seems like I will never meet their expectations..I guess if I think about it there could be a few reasons.1

So, I'm going to start out with the oh-so-popular line, "I've always hated my life." But I'm actually going to tell you why, or at least explain why I think I did from the start. I'm not really sure of what made me like this..2

It all started out when I was 2. From what I've heard, I was unusually intelligent for my age, and I was just plain unusual. At that age I would watch TV at night with my mom, while my dad was at work. Every night though, when he came home, I would run into my room crying..not quiet little sobs but the real thing. You must think that he beat me or molested me or something. Well he didn't..as far as I remember anyway. Anyway, after going into my room I would pull my little pink rocking chair over to the corner and sit in it facing the wall, or I would just curl up into a ball against a wall or a corner. My Softy Blanket and Puppy Puppy always made the trip with me, and they still do to be honest..at night when I breakdown. So at 2 years old, I would start talking to myself, which I remember very clearly, saying things about how I was put into the wrong family and one day Ill find a new one and they'll be wonderful people that will take care of me and hug and kiss me all the time..read me happy stories at bed time and make sure that I'm not sad like this ever again. Things like that..while crying hysterically. I said as much as I could think of saying. Then my dad would call me into his room and tell me that my mom was crying and it was all my fault and that I ruin everything and I'm being a terrible daughter. 3

I never said I wasn't abused..just not beaten or molested. Verbal abuse. I didn't know that it was something serious and that it would eventually cause so many emotional scars..I just knew that it was wrong.4

That nightly ritual went on until I was about 4 or 5..then after that it happened once in a while..but not too much. 5

I was 3 when I decided I wanted to die. Not sure why..but I pondered it a lot and was very find of the thought. I met my best friend when I was 3, and I told her all about how I wanted to die and that's when she told me about heaven, since I had never heard of it before. I liked the idea of a nice place like that to go..but I wasn't sure if it was real. I never really was anyway. So I talked to myself as usual but added things about how I want to die so that I could "get out of here" and go to a nice place like heaven or something. Maybe someone will find me up there and take care of me forever, and I'll be happy forever too. Then I told my friend many times that I'd like to visit that heaven place for a day, and if I liked it I'd stay.6

((No one wants a daughter that hates her family, cries because she's depressed and wants to die so that she can go somewhere better..and hasn't even hit 4 years old yet.))7

When I was 4 I had finally decided to run away. When I was upset I would scream to my mom that I was going to pack everything up in my room and leave..just walk somewhere and a nicer family would pick me up and keep me. She constantly told me that a man would pick me up and take me in the woods to kill me. I did run away though, for a few hours down the street during a rain storm. Mom found me and took me home.8

I did it a few more times, and then my mom told me about rape, yes, when I was 4..I'd do it too if my kid were like me. So I guess that could be one of the reasons why I have a hard time trusting people..the memory of her describing what would happen nailed into my brain..she didn't dumb it down or soften it, I was told the raw truth.9

At the same age my mom told me that if I got married to a man that hurt me, then I might not be able to get away from him and he might even kill me. That made me trust people even less. I'm not picky about guys, I'm just scared.10

My aunt died when I was 5. I loved her so much. I couldn't cry at her funeral, but everyone else did. My grandpa died after I turned 6, he was one of my best friends. I didn't cry at his funeral either. My aunt told me that when you die your soul turns to a butterfly, I'm still not sure, but that would be nice. I've been followed by pretty blue ones ever since she died, blue was her favorite color.11

8 years old. That's when I learned about my other half-sister, Sharon. She died a day after she was born, 3 months premature and a twin of my brother who is still alive. They were born in Germany but the doctors couldn't save her, and my brother is completely blind in one eye from it. She would've turned 28 last February, I think. Being only 8, I wasn't really sure of what to think, but now I am.12

I never really had anyone else to talk to. I mean, about things that fascinate me and fill me with wonder and amazement..philosophy and such. She could've been that person. Maybe she would've gone through what I went through and would always be there to talk to..and she could have been incredibly smart. I could've had hundreds of deep conversations with her that lasted for hours and hours. Maybe she was the sister I had always wanted, the one that never wanted to be anyone but who she wished to be, and wanted the same for me. I do have a sister..and I love her, but she's hardly ever in the same country to begin with..and she's certainly never been "there" for me. Though my dad thinks I should be an exact clone of her and nothing less, and I'm waiting for the day that I will make him proud to any extent. 13

Some people would be upset that they missed out on having a sister, but I'm devastated, because she could've been the best friend that I've been looking for..the person that I could talk to everything on Earth about and laugh and not have to regret what I just said or worry that it'll be passed around from person to person.14

The verbal abuse continued..and I'm a stupid, ungrateful, fuck up that is a disgrace to my family and it's no wonder I have so few friends. According to my dad anyway..funny that he loves all of my friends, especially if they do sports and go to church.15

Nobody will believe me when I tell them what he says to me, which makes it even harder to deal with.16

I started asking for therapy or a psychologist when I was 9. I truly wish my parents would've listened. If your child asks for a therapist, then there is something wrong. Plain and simple.17

In February I started realizing that whenever my family got together they'd talk about each other and everyone else related and how they were as kids and how they are now. I never came up in any conversation..and if I did then it was something negative..or of no importance. My uncle died in February, he smoked and it was because of a heart attack. I didn't get to see him much, but he was great. Close to what I've really wanted in a friend, very friendly and easy to warm up to, funny and always up for something new. My cousin (the same that had lost her mom) told me18

that he always talked about me and how much he loved me and what a great kid I was. Nobody will ever know how much that means to me. 19

Almost every cause of death in my family was drugs or smoking. This lead to a fear of hospitals, waiting rooms, doctors, surgery, and the like. Also a great sensitivity to having someone I love smoke or do drugs. Since everyone would smoke around me all the time I also might have lung cancer. I never complained about it when I was little, because I thought that it would make the person unhappy to stop smoking, and I wanted them to be happy before me..I wish I wasn't like that.20

This is long, but it's only a fraction, I never even got to the whole school part, and this was really only a small part of what I could tell you about my family life.21

Just thought it might be interesting to someone to hear about some of the things that create me and my personality.22