This is it. Adulthood. The very thing I craved more than anything as a child. I wanted nothing more than to grow out of my carefree, innocent, naive little mind and venture into what I thought would be a life of freedom and constant happiness. God, I was so freaking off, it’s not even funny.
I spent most of my “childhood” wishing I was older. I thought I had it so bad. Because this was my life:
Getting transferred to and from my mom and and my dad’s house, living two separate lives. I never got to choose where I was going. I didn’t even know what was going on. All I know is that someone was always upset. Especially during the holidays. My dad always got the first choice and it was always to keep me away from my mom. I always wanted to be with her. I was never too fond of my dad. And looking back on how treated me, he wasn’t as fond of me as he pretended he was. He just wanted someone to have authority over. And in this case, he had authority over both my mom and I. He’d kidnap me, but we couldn’t call it that. That was my life, though. Year after year I would dread every single special occasion other kids got the privilege of looking forward to and enjoying. Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday; I fucking hated all of them because I knew he would take me away from my mom despite the fact that I screamed and cried about it. Every single year.
I just wanted to be older, you know? I didn’t know what was going on. I didn’t know why other kids had a mom and a dad in the same house and I didnt. I hated my dad, though. I wanted out. My mom always told me that when I was 15, I could make a choice of whether I wanted to go over to my dad’s house or not. So I waited for that age.
It was my 15th birthday. I suffered through his bullshit for so many years and that day finally arrived. I was supposed to spend my birthday with my mom. Dad tried calling repeatedly and left horrible voicemails, but I ignored them. I didn’t want the drama. But this is when everything made a turn for the worst. I heard a long, loud car horn coming from outside my house. He was there. So I grabbed my things and got in the car. Instead of a happy birthday or even a simple “hi,” I was greeted with “I don’t know why you have that damn phone if you’re not gonna answer it.” I sat there and bit my tongue. Again, I didn’t want drama, but I also didn’t wanna be with him. He was doing it again! Kidnapping me. So I said, “Dad, I don’t wanna see you anymore.” He chuckled and kept driving. So I repeated myself, louder this time. And this time, he stopped his car on the side of the street and said “Oh you don’t wanna see me anymore? You think you’re some bad bitch now that you’re 15? Well let me tell you something. I don’t care. Don’t see me anymore. You’re not shit. You’re not as bad as you think you are.” I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry hysterically. This is what I wanted. I prepared myself for this moment. But I guess I never prepared for his response. Because never, in a million years, did I expect him to basically tell me I’m worthless and meant nothing to him. So all I managed to get out was a chuckle as well. Then his head jerked closer in my direction. I turned and looked at him and he was going to hit me. I saw it. Unfortunately, I knew that look. So I got out of the car and ran back home. This was the event that started a whole snowball effect of bullshit.
I was sexually harassed by someone who was supposed to be my friend.
World War 3 started with my family and I started dreading holidays again.
I was diagnosed with depression and had to take medicine for it.
I became anorexic on and off.
I got kicked out of my house.
I found out I had more sicknesses and was put on even more medicine.
I went to college and got raped by the guy’s dorm advisor.
I developed a horrible cutting problem.
I got diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. More medicine. Yay.
I completely lost my faith in any sort of God and then lost my best friend.
I overdosed and had to stay the night in ICU and broke my mother’s heart.
My dad pretended like he cared after my overdose and then made it clear that I was still worthless to him.
My brother told me I was fucked in the head and that I should cut him out of my life because he wanted nothing to do with me anymore.
I was driven to withdrawing from school and stop doing what I love.
I found out that all of my sicknesses included scoliosis, a gallstone, gallbladder dysfunction, liver dysfuncton, dysmenorrhea, menorrhagia, myofascial pain syndrome, tinnitus, severe depression and anxiety, manic depression, insomnia, hypoglycemia, and I’m probably missing some.
I have to take medication daily just to wake up and have the ability to function properly.
At the age of 19, I truly, genuinely….want my life to end.
But the worst part about all this is probably the fact that I actually thought I wanted to grow up. Is this what adulthood is? Hating yourself, waking up tired and in pain, walking around with mutilated skin, taking medication, living with and being haunted by the memories of a traumatic past only to wake up and repeat the cycle? If so, I want out. If this is what me being an adult means, I’m so over it.