An Open Letter

I feel self-loathing for several different reasons. I set up traps for other people, and when they inevitably don’t do things I use it to confirm the horrible things depression makes me believe.

I couldn’t help but remember as a child how it didn’t matter what I felt – at a relatively young age, I learned to bottle it up and permanently appease my Mom. I had no control, the only choice I had was to make her feel better at whatever cost to myself. Either that, or she didn’t talk, look, or touch anyone for months over singular small issues. One time my dad texted back “ok” in response to a text about there being a rain storm in San Diego since he was rushing to a meeting while in Asia. Because of that, she wouldn’t acknowledge that we existed for 6 months, even after he came back. We had nothing to do with it. She started ignoring us without us even knowing what happened. We had to borrow a phone to call our dad internationally to tell him we were freaking out because no one would take us home from school. They also policed us so much that we weren’t able to have friends over, go over to friends, hang out, or anything like that. So we were fully alone. We did nothing. I couldn’t intercept that problem and appease my mom there since it was a private text. That’s when it really solidified that if I did not sacrifice myself to be her emotional punching bag, no one else would. And we would all be in hell.

It’s so hard for me to advocate for myself. All it takes is a moment for me to remember my burden as a child. And it all comes rushing back.