August 22, 2014
Dear Friend,
Today is my brothers birthday. He is turning 16, the same age I was when all of this started. He may have been an obnoxious suck up but I sort of miss him sometimes.
My family never understood me.
They didn't understand why I would hang up sad lyrics and quotes in my room. They didn't understand that I felt low and down and depressed. They never cared enough to notice.
They didn't understand how I could spend countless hours reading, writing, and listening to music. They didn't understand that words were the only escape to the pain I felt in my heart.
They never knew I cut. My parents didn't even know what was going on at school. Only my sister knew but she never dared to talk about it with anyone, not even me.
I don't know if I pity or downright hate my mom. Maybe both. She always tried to have these talks with me these little interventions to try and help me grow and change into the "perfect" girl she wanted me to be.
I always felt more like her slave then her daughter. She would watch TV with my siblings but make me wash the dishes or fold the clothes. I always had to do some type of work for her while my siblings always got to sit back and relax.
She would hit me too. I would always try to tell myself that I'm stronger than her and that I can't let her have the satisfaction of crying in front of her, so I would hold it in.
When I got to the comfort of my room, I would break. I would look at the bright red hand print on my arm and start crying. I would throw myself onto my bed and hide my face in the pillows as I tried to muffle the sound of my sobs. Sometimes she would hear me though. She would come in and try to apologize and explain herself. I always told her I accepted her apology, but I never truly did.
Then there was my dad. He was the chief of police so everyone believed him to be a honest, noble man. Little did they know that as soon as a fight would break out in our house he would run for the liquor cabinent and down a bottle of vodka.
My dad wasn't as bad as my mom, he actually got me to smile and laugh a lot. He always knew how to lighten the tension at the dinner table.
Yet when my dad got angry, he was scary. He would pull my hair and hit me. He would always threaten me and call me names. Do you know what it feels like to be called a worthless animal by your own father? I doubt it so I'll tell you. It feels like you've been stabbed in the chest and you actually believe the names he calls you.
It was those darker moments that made me hate my dad.
My sister was a character. She always had something to talk about and news to share. Everybody loved her. She was popular and pretty and witty. My parents highly praised her and I was envious of her.
There were a lot of times that I genuinely enjoyed being in my sisters company. Megan always knew how to comfort me. When my parents would yell at me she would come in my room and tell me not to listen to them and she would stay with me until I smiled at least twice.
I actually don't hate her. The only thing that I hate is that she left me alone with my family to go off to college.
Then there is my brother. In my house its always Jake this or Jake that. I swear my parents think he is an angel sent from above. In reality he was always an obnoxious little shit. He would always tease and taunt me and he would never get in trouble. Ironically, I would be the one to get yelled at for telling him to stop.
Sports were always Jake's thing. He played hockey and lacrosse and was good at both. I would know because my parents dragged me to half his games hoping to create a family bonding experience. Family bonding my ass.
You're proving to be a very good listener.
Love Always,
Brooklyn