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One memory that I have that has stayed on my mind for a long time would be the time my mother was so angry at my grandma, so angry over something so small I can’t even remember, she decided to take out on her granddaughter, she’s kind of like my sister, but my mom is raising her, she told her she wasn’t taking her to school, and she did on the very same morning we needed to go so there was no one she could call and ask them to give my sister a ride, my sister was crying and my grandma was begging her to take her, my mother only got on the car with me and watched as my sister knocked on the door asking my mom to take her, I don’t remember if she ended up agreeing, I think she did. But that was something that always stuck with me. I wished I had better memories, something nicer to write, but I don’t, this is all I have. Unfortunately.

I don’t think there’s been a period of my life on where I’ve been popular, as a kid I could barely have any friends before they would get bored and go seek for other kids to play, it hurt me but when you’re used to being alone you sort of get used to it, but I promised myself to never allow that to happen once middle school started, that I would be cool enough to have friends, so she middle school started and I realized most of the girls I was with on elementary school were going to be there I thought it was going to be easy, that I just needed to be close to them at all times and be pretty talkative. It obviously didn’t work. Though I don’t know why, I guess it’s because I was quiet, but even when I tried to speak they would simply ignore me. There was this group of girls, their friendship was so pure I always wanted to be part of it, I was nice to them, always trying to join their talks and even doing everything they asked for but it was still not enough, it was like I was allergic to them, and I just couldn’t understand what was it that I had to do to be friends with them. I was always the weird one. The odd one.

I’ve always struggled to make friends, I don’t really know when it started because I don’t really remember a big part of my childhood, I just know that by the time I made it to middle school I was alone, I used to think it would change, that the moment I’d become a teenager I would have a million friends, but instead I was excluded, and the girls would talk shit about me, whisper to themselves about things I was never allowed to know. It hurt me. But I always thought that if I did everything they wanted that eventually they would figure out I was actually quite nice. But then seventh grade went by and so did eighth, ninth grade was fine, but then on tenth it started to happen again, the excluding, and when I changed schools I thought I would finally be free. Turns out those girls were even meaner. I don’t know what to do anymore, im so tired of this happening, its like i always just ruin it without even knowing, they say things that make me think they are for me but I don’t understand why and im too old to be crying to my mom about this, she doesn’t deserve that so i just keep it to myself. Why is it so hard to be normal?

When I was seven my biggest wish was to be an adult and travel far away from my family, when I turned ten however I promised myself not to make it past sixteen, and for the longest time I believed it, I had it all planned, the way I would do it, the time and even where. But then I turned sixteen and nothing happened, I felt afraid and I simply decided to not do it, I regret it, I regret it so much. I feel empty, like my meaning is nothing because I wasn’t supposed to make it this far, I don’t know which college to choose, I don’t even want to live

I’ve been thinking about something lately, something I promised myself never to even imagine, but it’s been in my mind for so long I think about it more than I not, on school, on the grocery store with my mother and even on happy times. They all told me things would get better as time went by, and for some time it did, then it all went downhill afterwards, I changed schools because the other one made me miserable, but this one makes me feel even worse, death has always scared me, not knowing what comes after it happens. Is it peaceful? Does god appears in front of you? I haven’t thought of how it I want it to happen, I guess I’m too scared, I wrote a date a few years ago, year and month as well as a day, I’m a month away from that date, maybe that’s why I’m like this. I’ve been thinking about maybe leaving some letters, to my mom and one for my dad too, I want them to know it’s not their faults, ive always been this way, sad, I guess I’ve never seen myself with a future, I really don’t think I’ve ever seen myself over the age of eighteen or even seventeen.

My mom acts like a child, I don’t know since when or as to why but I’ve always known she’s not exactly normal, I was maybe seven when I realized her behavior wasn’t normal, when I refused to talk shit about my dad with others and she punched me in eye with her elbow telling me to get out of her face. That’s when I knew she wasn’t like other moms. It took me a few more years to finally give it a name. Bipolar disorder. And it took me another year to finally learn how to put up with her. At first I would respond, yell back, even attempt to punch too, but then I realized it was useless, then the sadness hit it. Then the realization. Why did I expected her to be something she had never been? I don’t see her as a mom. I love her. But a mom doesn’t do what she’s done to me.

My whole I’ve chased this ideal that being pretty is the answer for everything, that beauty is pain and women are ought to feel it, and for my whole life I’ve known that despite my efforts I’m not pretty, or even remotely pleasant, it bothered me, I hated it, and I hated more the fact that everybody around me knew just how much I struggled and still made comments, subtle ones. But they angered me. But then on the summer of eighth grade something changed, the pimples went away and I entered as many call it the ‘Mia era.’ I lost the weight, and I also changed schools, I started doing my eyebrows and eventually got contact lenses, and suddenly I wasn’t the ugly one anymore, suddenly I was ‘okay’. Okay. That word might of have made someone pretty feel bad, but it made me so happy, in a way I can’t even explain. I’m now on eleventh grade, and yesterday it was the first time in my whole life someone called me pretty after I told them how people used to treat me, not exactly those words but more of ‘you are kind of pretty.’ It felt weird. I was confused. Was I pretty? Would she be calling me that had she met me three years ago?

For my whole life my mother has treated me and made me feel like shit, she’s insulted me and beaten me ever since I can remember. By seven I knew when to keep quiet and when to speak, I knew who I shouldn’t talk to if I wanted to keep her happy and I knew things were done like she wanted, my sister? All the contrary. She doesn’t hit her, she acts like if the kid was going to break. Today my sister wanted to do something which was so stupid and I said it, i told her it would be embarrassing and to not do it, I wasn’t being mean. Then? She comes to my room saying I need to ‘measure’ my words because sometimes I can hurt people’s feelings. Fuck her. She wants to talk about ‘measuring’ words? She should have done that with me when I was younger. She used to tell me I was useless, that I wasn’t her daughter and she once hit me in the eye with her elbow but to my sister? She’s hugged when she cries but I have to cry alone because if I even dare cry she just tells me to calm down. If my sister is sick? She goes straight to the doctors, I fractured my hand on eight grade, the only treatment I ever received was from my schools nurse. I just want to leave that house.

Ever since I was a child I believed there was always calm after the storm, that it didn’t mattered how pretty one was or how ugly one looked that by the end someone strong and kind would come, that everyone would be loved just like those princess movies. It was on middle school that I realized this did not happened, I was on seventh grade and there was this boy I liked, the first one I allowed myself to like, he had dark skin and curly hair, he was beautiful, but at the same time another one of my classmates a girl that was on the same circle of friends as me had a crush on him. But I didn’t made a big deal out of it and neither did she, I remember the day she found out, she simply looked at me and said. ‘Oh’ She didn’t saw me as competition and I understood even back then why. I was the fat looking girl and the only one with big pimples and she was the skinny brunette with a face that was to die for, why would he ever noticed me? I didn’t said anything either, I stopped trying to be on the same classrooms as him and eventually stopped clicking on his instagram. Within no time they started to date, but I still smiled at him and wore my hair down just in case he looked at me. He never did. He never knew I existed. I was just there.

I believe there’s different types of bullying, the one you see on the movies and the one they warn you about. The typical people pointing at you on the halls, whispers when you enter a room, gossiping, rumors that aren’t true. But there’s one no one ever talks about, the one that’s hidden between the words “friendship” it hides on tiny comments, tiny actions that at first seem funny, but only at first, at first is just a joke, just a little prank, then it’s them talking behind your back, going quiet as soon as you walk by but acting all normal when you ask them what’s going on, being ignored one day and then not. And suddenly it’s three am and you’re wondering what have you done, why are they texting pictures of yourself and laughing, why? They’re your friends. But they make you what to scream and cry. It’s weird.

Home is not home. It’s just a house where I live. The bed I sleep in it’s home. The sheets I hide in are home. But the house I live in isn’t. Sometimes at night I wait until everyone is asleep and wander around. What is home? The house they yell at you for dropping a cup? The house they hit you for breathing? If that’s home then I don’t want it. I rather be homeless.

Sometimes I’m afraid no one is going to truly love me, that I won’t have a person hugging me during the night or when I have a rough day, someone that cares when I’m sick, or just someone. I’ve never had a person like that before, my mom has never cared about me, when I broke my hand on eight grade she ignored me and when she found out I told the teachers about it she made me carry a tv, it’s the same with my scoliosis, I know im not pretty, but ugly? I don’t know. I’ve liked guys before, but always in secret, I would know everything about them but they would never know about me, that’s got it worked. I’ve never allowed myself to like someone for too long, because I know nothing will happen, they won’t look at me, but it’s nice to think they will