why is it always me? why am i portrayed as the bad person?
all my life i’ve been treated poorly. they say “treat others the way you want to be treated” but once you treat them the way they treat you, you’re a horrible person.
i never get heard. my side of the story is never important because i am found to be “dramatic”.
i know there’s something wrong with me but i don’t know what it is. as i write this im on the bathroom floor crying and thinking if i should end my life or not.
i’m no use to my family. i’m useless as my sisters would say. i’m the “problem” i’m the “devil”.
not once have i ever felt loved in this house. the house is full of hate, arguments, and bad people. they say i’m nice at school that i’m always happy but that’s only because i know how to act. at home, i like to stay in my room because i’m the only person who understands myself.
my family don’t know what i go through or how much pain i have in my body from the name calling to the physical pain. my mother constantly calling me stupid everyday. my sisters constantly taking advantage of me.
my dad who’s never in the picture. he lives with us yes but he’s always working. moments and days like these make me hate life and my birthdays. each year something goes wrong and it hurts when i turned thirteen my parents argued all day and it was sad. when i turned fourteen i had a party but i didn’t enjoy it.
and the traditional fifteenth birthday in a mexican household was the worst one yet. no cake. no “happy birthday” with true meaning behind it. no surprise nothing. just a fifteen dollar starbucks card and some balloons.
that’s the story i’m going to be telling my children in the future when they ask if i can even have children. they pressure me so bad to do good like i’m the one who needs help.
sometimes i wish that the doctors would’ve just let me die at birth in the hospital. i wish that my sisters would move out my parents would get a divorce bc im sick and tired of this life. i hate it all but i still stand up strong.