My grandma has taken care of me since I was about 6 years old. She got married when I was about 8 I think, and he became kind of a father to me(papa). I don't really remember much before I was about 12 or 13, but I don't really remember being unhappy then. We lived in a pretty nice house, I had a pool, a hot tub, a tree house my papa built with me, with swings and a ramp so my dog could go up with me. I had pretty much everything I wanted.
In 6th grade I went to a new school, a private Christian school, and that's when everything started to change. It took me a long time to make friends, I became more shy and quiet. My grades slowly started getting worse, I became less and less happy with my life, with myself. By the time I was 15, I was starting to cut, I was failing classes, and I just wanted out.
All of my friends were thin, smart, well liked. I was the other one. I wasn't thin, I was smart but still failing classes , I was really quiet and never really was part of any group. I started getting very self conscious about how I looked, and for awhile I stopped eating completely. My grandparents didn't notice, my friends did. They eventually forced me to start eating again, even if it was only a little bit.
At home, my grandma started serving me one plate of food and not allowing me to get seconds because I "didn't need it". She started making little comments about my weight, nothing outright mean, but just enough to keep me constantly thinking about it. I hated buying new clothes because she would make comments on how I needed a bigger size, or how something didn't fit me right because I'd put on some weight.
She and my grandpa also started fighting a lot, always arguing and when they could they would bring me into it, each telling me how the other was wrong. Or they would argue about me. I would go into my room and try to block it out but my grandma would always come barging in, without knocking, for some reason or another while still fighting with him. The only place I could get away was the bathroom. I would take baths that would last hours, just because I didn't want to go back out to them. When I started cutting I would do it in the bathroom, with whatever I could find that would cut. I would use razors, scissors, even safety pins or tacks. Anything that was sharp enough to break skin. I would bleed and I would cry, and eventually clean up and go back to my room. No one seemed concerned I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt every single day, even throughout summer.
I would go to school and be miserable, come home and be even worse. Cutting every day, sometimes more than once, became normal for me, and still no one noticed. Finally at the end of 10th grade one of my friends told a teacher about my cutting, and she told the principal. They told my grandpa and I was sent to counseling. My grandpa never said a word to me about it, neither did my counselor. I kept cutting. Nothing changed and I never got any help, for anything.
My senior year of high school, I was basically kicked out by one of the teachers, and the principal decided that instead of having me go back to classes he would just let me do independent study. He never gave me any of the work so I just decided to take my GED because I did NOT want to spend another year in high school. During that year, since I wasn't going to classes I didn't get to see my friends, and they all slowly stopped talking to me. By graduation I really didn't have any friends left.
My shyness had gotten worse, I started dreading having to meet new people, or talk to people at all. The next year I started taking classes at the community college. I did okay the first few weeks, but it started getting harder and harder for me to go to classes. I barely made it through the semester and ended up failing one of my classes. The second semester didn't go any better. I never made any friends, I barely even talked to anyone. My 3rd semester I ended up dropping half of my classes, and by the 4th... I dropped them all. I would drive myself to school.. and I wouldn't be able to make myself get out of my car. I would sit there, arguing with myself about how stupid I was being. Nothing was going to happen if I went to class, but I just couldn't do it. I would end up having panic attacks in my car in the parking lot. I would then drive to the library parking lot and either sleep or read until it was time for me to go home. I couldn't work up the nerve to tell my grandparents I wasn't going to school.
I knew I had problems, and I knew I needed help. But I just wasn't ready to admit it to anyone. I wasn't ready to ask for help. My grandparents to this day don't think I have any problems. They just think I am fat, lazy, rude, inconsiderate and selfish. Of course they would never say most of those to my face, but that's how they treat me.
My grandma is one of the BIG contributing factors to my problems. She makes me feel like crap. She makes me feel like throwing myself into traffic, or jumping off a bridge. Anything to just get away from HER. I moved out of her house, and in with my other grandpa because I couldn't take living with her anymore. I knew if I stayed there I would kill myself. But moving out didn't help much. She still tries to control every part of my life. Makes me feel bad for trying to take care of ME first for a change. I leave stuff on the living room table and she calls me yelling and tells me how I'm abusing my grandpa and how horrible of a person I am basically. She makes me go walking with her, even though she knows for days afterwards I'm in so much pain I lay in bed crying all day. It's like she purposely does everything she can to make me the most miserable. I can't stand her. Every time the phone rings I'm terrified that its her. When someone is at the door, or I hear a car pull up... I want to lock myself away somewhere so she can't get to me. I still lock myself in the bathroom for hours just to have some peace. Its the only place I can go that she wont follow me. I've gone in there, with my computer so I can finish homework. I take books and read for hours just to escape.
I know I need to get help but I just don't know what to do anymore. I feel trapped. Miserable, alone, frustrated... and I hate it.
No comments:
Post a Comment