It all started when I was about 7 years old. My parents fought a lot. My dad often abused my mom by doing terrible things to her. I would often hear her cry and scream and there would be sounds of glass breaking , chairs being thrown, or anything breaking , really. I would usually stay in my room and cry. And hope that they would stop fighting. And the worse part was that I was only 7 years old. I didn’t understand why they were fighting. I didn’t understand why my dad would hit my mom. I really didn’t understand anything. Whenever I asked my mom she would not answer and when I asked my dad he would get mad at me. It really confused me so much.
When I was about 8 years old my parents decided to get me a maid. They left me at home most of the time with the maid. My parents still fought really often and at that time I kind of gotten used to it already. It still made me sad at that time, but I did get used to it. I was used to being alone at such a young age due to my home conditions and I didn’t do so well in school as well. The maid was fine for the first few months until she started to abuse me. She would slap me or do other horrible things to harm me. This went on until she finished her contract, which was for about two years. Everyday was a living hell for me. She hated me, a lot. And I didn’t understand why. And I kept all this to myself. There were times where I wanted to tell my mom about the way she treats me but my maid threatened me that if I told my mother she would fight with my dad again and everything would get worse. So I chose to keep it to myself.
AGE 10 & ABOVE
I didn’t have any connections with my family members except for the ones I lived with. But when I was 10 years old , and my horrible maid went back to the Philippines, my grandfather moved in with us along with my two uncles. Whenever my parents fought my grandfather, that I call ‘Daddy’, would be there for me. He would tell me that things would be okay, that my parents still love each other and that they will eventually stop fighting. Everyday since I was 7, I hope that they would stop fighting, but it never seemed to happen. But daddy made things a lot easier for me. He’s no therapist, but he was there for me and I think that was all I needed.
When I was 10 years old going on 11, I had to sit for the year 6 exam which was the ‘PSR’ examination. I wasn’t the best in studies due to my home condition. It made me slack on studies and I couldn’t focus because all I was thinking about at that time were my parents. But I did surprisingly well in the exam and daddy was so proud of me. I have never seen him that proud before. Even though I was very close to daddy there were days where I fought with him. Not because I hated him but because I hated my own existence. And daddy was sick as well. He had diabetes and it was getting really bad. But he refused to go to the hospital and that made me even madder. I felt like I was a burden to my parents and I guess daddy was just trying to be there for me. I didn’t understand it at that time, so there were days where I wished that daddy could lay off a little bit. And on some days I even wished that he was dead.
And my wish came true. On November 29th 2011, there was a knock on the door. My beloved daddy, the person that inspired me, that was there for me passed away in a terrible car accident. It was a week before my birthday and I guess that was my first encounter with depression. I concluded that I had dysthymia. I started harming myself at that age because my only friend, my only family, left me. I didn’t have much friends. I wasn’t that popular or pretty either. He was actually my only friend. And I lost him.
At age 11, my dad moved out of the house, out of the country to work. And that broke me even more. Because I kept on thinking that this might be another step to my parents getting divorced. I didn’t see him that often anymore after that. I still don’t see him that often. It was just very hard.
The next few years were hard. I kept finding ways to hurt myself. I’ve never told anyone because I didn’t want anyone to worry about me. And I didn’t trust anyone. On some days I wonder if my mom noticed the burns or cuts on my skin. I wonder if she ever saw them but she just didn’t care. I wish she cared.
I met my first love in senior year. I’ve never opened up about my depression or self harming or anxiety to anyone, but he was the first. I really loved him a lot. And he was able to accept me for who I am, even though I was so fucked up, even though I hated my life so much. He would be there for me when I had anxiety attacks, he gave me the attention I needed to help me keep my mind off of things and to focus on my studies. I actually loved him. But, words are only words. And people do get tired in the end. He left me. He fucking left me because I was too broken for him. The worst part is that I don’t blame him. Helping people with depression and anxiety can be really draining especially if you care about that person. And that was when I realized that I cant tell anyone about what’s going on with me. Nobody is going to fucking fix me because its too fucking tiring. People get tired, they leave. And that’s how it is. I haven’t learnt to accept it, not even now.
Towards the end of senior year, I put my trust in someone else. I told him most of the things because I couldn’t bottle up so much feelings. I couldn’t keep everything to myself. It hurt me a lot. I was tired of constantly having anxiety attacks and constantly hurting myself. He wasn’t the best when it came to calming me down and making me feel better, but at least I had someone to talk to. I had someone that wouldn’t judge me no matter what.
I spent the new years with the boy that left me. I let him back into my life. I was so stupid to do that. Because yes in the end, he left me. Again. And the worse part is that now I don’t know why he did. There’s no closure, no proper goodbye. There wasn’t anything. And god I missed him so much. I still do. I thought moving on would be easier than this. I never expected to miss him this much. And its so fucking unfair for me.
The boy that was there for me found new friends and left me here to be sad alone. I feel like I’m drifting away from my high school friends. I’m eventually going to move away in 5 months. And my parents still do have fights. I am trying so hard to be okay with this. I am trying so hard to accept this, I’m trying so hard to accept myself for who I am. I am so fucked up, too fucked up for anyone, really. I hate hurting myself but on some days it just feels right. I am trying my hardest to stay clean, I am trying my hardest to be happy. Its really hard to cope with all this especially when I have nobody to open to about this. I mean, how can I open up to anyone? There’s always this part of me that tells myself that people would think that I’m seeking attention when I tell somebody. When really, I just need somebody to talk to. I hate feeling this way, I hate my life. But I am trying to get better. And eventually, I will get better.
Now I am slowly getting better. I starter surrounding myself with people that care about me and people that love having me around. I don’t harm myself as much as I used to. And on most days I would be genuinely happy. It still is hard for me, but I keep on reminding myself that the world is a great place to be and it’s not worth it if I take my own life just because of what I’m going through. Yes it is hard, but these hardships only make me stronger. I don’t know about other people, but I am slowly trying to accept my life and to be happy in my own skin.
Mental issues are a serious thing. And they shouldn’t be taken lightly. We are all going through something, and some people are going through worst. But it’s still something. I want people to be more aware of this. I want people that are going through this to know that you’re not alone. Because somewhere out there, there are also people (like me) that are going through something. If one person can get better, I believe that we all can.
– with love, the untitled