You know you’re on an all-time low when you’re looking for ways to end your life…again.
For the most part, I see myself as a responsible person; I don’t drink excessively (in fact, I hate the taste of alcohol), I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I didn’t get pregnant when I was a teenager. Maybe one of my flaws is that I’m not a trained housekeeper for a five-star hotel, so I can’t keep up with your demands for cleanliness. Maybe another one is that I’m not an achiever, so you don’t have something to brag to your brothers and sisters and cousins. I am sorry for that; perhaps you should have played Mozart and Beethoven while I was still in the womb and then sent me off to housekeeping school so I could be the genius prodigy five-star hotel head housekeeper achiever you apparently want me to be.
Is that why you’re so hard on me, but not on others? Did you expect great things from your first child? Did I bitterly disappoint you when it turned out I could not fulfill them?
Why is it so easy for you to make me cry? I am actually at a happy point in my life–in fact, the happiest I’ve been in years–but just a few harsh words from you, and that happiness is crushed. Just a few words, and you send me back to that dark place I don’t ever wanna step into again. By the way, did you know that my first attempt was actually when I was just a wee ten-year-old girl? Being the child that I was, I didn’t know anything about killing myself so the attempt did not succeed, of course. If that isn’t a sign of misery and desperation even at such a young age, then I don’t know what is.
Maybe you’ll be glad to know that what’s preventing me from being sucked back into that chasm is the fact that I love someone. Unlike before, I have someone to live for, someone I don’t want to see sad.
If you’re wondering why it’s so hard for me to talk to you, the answer is simple: you don’t know how to listen.
Well, I’m sorry for being a leech (although if you just stop focusing on me and my mistakes for a moment, you’ll see a bigger leech in the house). Don’t worry, someday you’ll be rid of me. In the meantime, I’ll have to endure the tiny grains of salt you like to throw at me–enough to burn horribly, but not enough to kill.
Without needing to hear the whole story, just my silence, he told me, “You’re full of sadness.”