I’m either happy because of nothing, or sad because of everything
When you have cancer, people send flowers; when you lose your mind, they don’t.
When she was five, she watched the other girls in her class. How they walked, how they talked, how they twirled, and she tried to mimic their behaviors. Only to be laughed at.
When she was eight, again she watched the girls in her class, how the teachers always spent more time with them, how they could run and play without fear of falling, or their belly being exposed. Yet this time she had learned to not mimic their actions.
When she was twelve, she saw their pretty hair, thin frames, and traces of makeup. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t be flawless like the others and why boys wouldn’t give her attention.
When she was fifteen, she was bullied daily. People’s words tortured her every thought, even when sleeping she only had nightmares of their vicious words. She was slammed into lockers, almost hit by cars, came close to failing gym because she wouldn’t dress out, due to being called a”fatass” or a “dyke,” and she was a straight A student. She was told to kill herself and boy, did she try.
When she was seventeen she finally met a boy who thought she was pretty and she craved his attention, only to be ignored by him when she finally found the nerve to reciprocate.
At eighteen she fell in love with a thirty-one year old man who was going through a divorce. She never told him for fear of being ignored again. Of being forgotten. Of being nothing, but his midlife crisis.
At nineteen alcohol became her vice. She drank every night. Three months sans sobriety and life was good. She fucked every boy she met. A virgin at nineteen turned to a slut in three months. She made herself believe that if she could just get them to have sex with her that she was beautiful. That she could be wanted. That she was desirable.
Every night she would cry herself to sleep, wondering how she could be such a piece of trash when all she ever wanted was to feel beautiful. She can’t even cuddle with her boyfriend for fear of him feeling her. Really touching her. The more she falls for him the less physical contact she wants with him, because then he’d break up with her, right? She loves everything about him and wouldn’t have him any other way, yet cannot see why he would ever want to be with her.
What a sad pathetic life she will lead. Never letting herself feel love, but only craving affection. Never letting herself feel wanted, but needing acceptance. Never making a decision for herself to be happy, but killing herself to make everyone else smile. Maybe it will all be worth it someday, but how in the hell can she ever love anybody else if she knows she will never love herself?