What a Shitty Day to be Alive
Disclaimer: before you start reading, if you read it anyway, please be assure there will be negative thoughts. Sorry in advance.
Nowadays not even a happy song makes me, let’s say, happy.
I have no idea what is wrong with me, but I know I am no longer the cheerful girl I have always been. And what a bunch of lies. I am actually trying to remember the last time I was actually absurdly happy. Maybe when I met Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, or maybe, and going back and back in the past, when my nieces were born, and that makes me even sadder, not because I met Cumberbatch and Freeman in 2013, but because my nieces were born in 1997, which makes me unhappy since then.
I have always been a victim of bullying, so I kind of got used to it. I remember going to school and fearing that I would be mocked for having my ears the way they were built. I remember going to school and fearing an everyday life, when everyone is hoping for a special day, I was just hoping for a normal one. I somehow was always hoping for a happy day, a different new day, a day that for the very first time I wouldn’t be mocked, but sadly that day never came, and I had to live with that for 9 years straight, plus two years. They are past now, but the saddest truth is, those nine years marked me, and took my cheerfulness away.
As I look at the mirror I try to recognize myself, I try to see who that person is, as I sit on the bus and thoughts come over my head, I start thinking about who I am and the person I want to be, and I never recognize myself. Yesterday, I caught myself asking my boyfriend and I quote ‘Do you think I am a bad person’. And most of the times I actually feel I am.
I don’t have many friends, well hell with that. I don’t have friends, period. Everyone seems to forget me, somehow. I had a boy best friend in Portugal, he used to say he would never let me go… the truth? He actually did once I moved to the UK. And now you say, ‘good friends never leave you’. And now I say, ‘then why do people invite so many friends to their wedding day, and to an office party, and to a club, and to drinks, and to house parties’, and I can’t seem to have no one to do those things with?
I lost another friend to my honesty. I have been cruelly honest since I started high school, as I really didn’t want people to think I was a liar. I loved that girl. I could speak the most stupid things with her and she wouldn’t laugh at my face, but somehow, I lost her too.
Then, I had a friend in London, just a friend. Nothing really much more than a friend, she used to come for drinks until she found a boyfriend, and so she left me as well.
And so I’ve been deserted by people.
I have a brother, but he wished I would die, and I quote ‘God, why can’t you just disappear.’ Then again, he is a drug addict, we can blame the Heroin and the Haxixe.
I don’t tend to feel sorry for myself… But now that I look at that… I wish I would just be able to feel sorry and to blame everyone and to create a system that would allow people to feel sorry for themselves. But then again, what would be the purpose of a system like that?
I don’t feel loved.
I do feel loved by my dad and by my mom. My father didn’t try to show me his love for me until I left his house for good, now he feels so embarrassed on Skype that he also cries when talking to me, sometimes apoligising for not being able to express his love more correctly. I miss my mom. I miss my cat… My cat, the only thing in this world that actually makes me happy and safe.
I would love to say that feeling loved by my parents is enough, but it truly isn’t.
I have a way to hide tears, I taught myself how to hide them when I was as little as 7. I used to pretend that being bullied was the natural, so I would accept it with a smile, and would cry alone in my bed, hiding between the sheets. In front of everyone I would smile, and accept, I would also prevent myself from crying, telling myself that there was people in a worse state, suffering more than I was.
At 8 I saw my brother throwing a kitchen knife on a balcony while threatening my mom because she refused giving him money for drugs.
When I was 9 I lost my very first Best Friend, as she moved to another school. Sandra was her name. I have never seen her again.
When I was 10 someone measured my ear with a ruler… Giving me Dumbo as a nickname.
When I was 11 I started being left alone during school lunch, not because I was boring, but because I was ‘ugly’. I had no friends, so I found myself creating stories about my life, to make people think that I was extreme and amazing, but I was still the ugliest creature in the classroom, and school.
I recall being 12 and realising that no one would care about my tears, as they would always think I was a creature and they were humans. So I started hiding and suffering in silence.
At 13 my fantasy life was discovered, and my friends, the little ones I had, started deserting me. Also, got a Valentine card in the morning one day, to get another one in the afternoon from the same person saying that no one would be interested in me as I looked like Dumbo, and was too ugly to be their Valentine for real.
When I turned 14 I started suffering from Bulimia, not because I wanted to be skinny, but because I was so nervous in school, I would vomit everything I had for dinner, lunch, breakfast for days straight.
At 15 I had a otoplasty, innocently thinking that it would solve all my problems. At 16 I had my first understanding that nothing was to change, people would still find flaws. I moved to high school, and incredibly enough the first year was alright… And I started self scratching and biting, hiding it from my family.
When I started University things changed for worse in the second year… And I got the last signs of a chronic depression. I reached a point of wanting to kill myself for the second time, while fighting myself during bites and scratches. A dose of pills wouldn’t hurt me as much as 11 years of bullying. I know I recall seeing my cat, my little kitty, and imagining my mom coming in to my room and seeing my dead body, when she already has an almost dead son, so I called the ambulance to take me out of the trance I wanted to be on.
And so I moved to London, only to start the behave again.
It is safe to say that I am sorry for everyone who is suffering for not having the chance to live more years. And I wish I could help fighting for that chance.
I am sorry. I know my life is the most precious gift my parents gave me, and I am sorry. But I am not OK, I won’t be OK. I have tried, but I am not OK, and I don’t really know what OK is. I am sorry.