A Girl I Used to Know

I've Been Meaning to Write this for Awhile - 10/29/19

The summer before moving to South Carolina we spent between my grandmas house (My moms side) and my nana's (Dad's). By the end we didn't enjoy going to grandmas house as much. We love her just as much, but the possibilities seemed to be endless at Nana's house. We weren't stuck sitting at a couch watching Family Feud all day with nothing to stimulate our minds. We grouped together and decided we would arrange to go to nana's house days earlier than we were supposed to, and I remember grandma's face when we told her. It broke my heart to see the pain in her eyes with just a simple, "oh." That's the first time in my life I remember feeling regret. A deep regret which I still can picture in my mind. It made me feel sick to my stomach after that, even at Nana's house. We were young, of course. We didn't understand. When our parents, states away, found out, they yelled at us but that memory is faint. Memories of them yelling at me drown out in my ears. Regardless of how much they yelled at me, it didn't change the fact that I became my own worst critic. Nothing they said could compare to the punishment I gave myself.

Hearing about my nana's death was the turning point in my life, yet at the time I didn't realize it. I didn't even know how to react when they told me. A stroke. We picked up my dad from work but I couldn't bring myself to look anywhere else except for out the window. When we made it to Alabama and to her house I remember going into her room and completely breaking down. My mom held me thinking it was the notes on the bathroom mirror which triggered me. The "you're worthless," "no one loves you," "you're ugly," didn't even phase me. How could it? I told myself the same things. Truth is, I missed her. It wasn't real until that moment I walked into her room and didn't see her typing behind her computer or watching Alfred Hitchcock. None of it was real until that moment. No more pops. I don't remember seeing him much after that. Addie slowly fell off too. She got pregnant at 17 and Pops disowned her. He got remarried and started a new life as if we never existed. As if I never existed. All of those memories meaningless. It didn't take me long to connect the dots between her "stroke" actually being a suicide. I never directly asked for the truth because I knew I wouldn't get it, but I knew.

My first time falling in love with the wrong person, the cycle of abuse continued. He had his own mental issues. Anger problems, depression, sociopathic, narcissistic. "I didn't mean it," constantly swirling my head after an explosive episode. He stripped me of the little worth I had left, and along with the new house and being the new kid in a suburban school with white kids who didn't know the difference between box braids and a sew-in, I was bullied relentlessly. Insecurities of my skin, hair, soul, personality, looks, everything. I didn't know who I was. Who am I supposed to be? All my life I remained silent and the only time I could be myself was when I was alone, but that didn't last very long. I slowly stopped singing after I met him. The life from my eyes faded. He abused me constantly emotionally and verbally and I thought this is love. This is how I'm supposed to be treated. I mean nothing. He left me for another girl and I remained passive. I let him back when he came. When he destroyed my heart at 13 years old I remember crying the hardest id ever cried. I felt as if my heart had been ripped straight from my chest, and like a piece of paper, he ripped it into thousands of shreds. I covered my mouth so that no one could hear me cry and I cried until I fell asleep. Days after, I couldn't eat, even if I tried. I remember Daniela offering me a chocolate chip cookie in the morning (my favorite) and I felt as if I would throw up if I ate it. I started to starve myself. I started to self harm. All of these actions encouraged by the person I continuously allowed back into my life. He drained me of my energy and when I wasn't of use to him, he left me until I could no longer stand the feeling of not being wanted and I begged for him to come back. It didn't take long for my parents to find out, and the first time was a blur. It was the first time my dad called me a whore. I didnt know what to say or think then. I let it happen. I didn't understand. I was so naive. The second time around they found out I was continuing to talk to him was the most memorable time for me. It was the first time I tried to commit suicide shortly after my 14th birthday. I was kicked out and I remember looking at the road ahead of me and closing my eyes. I hoped I wouldn't make it across and that a car would hit me. Just before I stepped out into the street, my mom came to pick me up. I resented God. I screamed at him. Why didn't he kill me? Why is this happening? The anger I held in silently I let out on myself and I continued to cut my legs until I could no longer look at them anymore. At that point, anything could set me off and my resentment toward my parents only grew. I blamed them for everything I believed was wrong about me. I never felt loved or safe or wanted or good enough. I tried to talk to a counselor and he tried his best to intervene the situation, but outside help only made it worse and prolonged the rift between my relationship with my parents. Over the course of high school I started to do drugs and do anything I could to fuck up my life. I didn't care as long as I didn't get to go home to what I had to deal with. As long as I didn't have to hear that voice in my head telling me I deserved everything bad thing in the world to happen to me. I impulsively cut my wrists one day and after that it became an easy habit for me. I called it my emotional release. I would do anything I could to get high from stealing weed from my dad to smoking out of a fruit and swallowing bottles of cough syrup to get even a little high. When my parents found out I was smoking in the bathroom one morning, nothing they said could have affected me in the way that they could ever imagine. All of the things wrong with me had roots that went back so deep they'd suffocate under the dirt before they reached the start of the roots which were planted in the earth. I didn't care at that point. I was so far gone I simply didn't care. I didn't care about myself or what happened to me. I didn't care that night I continuously told a boy no and he continued to make me do things I didn't want to do. I didn't care that I was being touched in ways I didn't like at school. I never felt safe or wanted or good enough. I felt like an object for everyone to use and abuse, and when they were done, I'd get tossed away like I'm nothing. I wanted so badly to care and I acted like I did to pretend that I had some sense of humanity left in me, but each day I spent since pre school telling myself I deserved it all wouldn't allow me to care. Even when my friend told me I should start singing because one time I accidentally purposely sung in front of her and she thought my voice was beautiful. To this day I still have doubts about my abilities and the things I can achieve. I still feel unwanted without constant validation from someone I love and I try so hard everyday to move past those doubts and feelings & i won't give up. I've come so far from all of the troubles and traumas of my past; I can't go back to who I used to be. I tell myself everyday I don't deserve the way I'm being treated no matter how much other people's actions toward me cause me to doubt that. I tell myself that I'm beautiful everyday. I sing my heart out in the mirror when I'm alone. I do what makes me happy and makes me feel deserving of all the things I have now because of all of the work I've done to shed those fears and uncertainties of the past. I forgive myself and others for the ways they've hurt me. I practice gratitude for everything and everyone I have and have endured. I spread the unconditional love in my heart to everyone around me. I face my inner demons no longer afraid to see all of the decisions and situations I dealt with in the past because I know that everyday I choose to be better — to do better. But out of anything, when I don't feel deserving of the love Zach has for me; when I don't feel deserving of Luna; when I don't feel deserving of my friends or the money or jobs I have; I have to remind myself:

Kaila, at least you're trying.

You've come so far. Why would you give up now?

Because I do deserve it. And I may not believe it now but I'll continue to tell myself it everyday until I do.