Never the Kind to Let Feelings Show

by Emma
(California US)

Sometimes I wonder if God just hated me from the beginning. I wonder other times if He meant for me to feel the way a I do. But I've realized that it was never God, it was me.

My story begins April 18th 1998. I was born with obesity and inherited depression from both sides. Six months later my aunt dropped me on my head, making me forever 'different'.
I've felt so much sadness in my life, it just doesn't seem fair. In only thirteen years, I'm at the point where I just can't see a future for myself. People tell me, 'Oh Emma, you’re so happy and cheerful! How could you ever feel sad?'. Ever hear of acting? At the age of eight my beloved grandma died, making me miserable for months. My mom had me see a consular after that. But the hardship wasn't over yet. My dad was diagnosed with leukemia cancer a few months later. I visited the hospital too many times to count. I've seen people at death's door, people that just don't deserve that. Every day after school I'd drive over with my mom to see my dad, and every time we left, I wondered who would be missing tomorrow. Would my dad no longer have his roommate? Maybe the nice lady across the hall? I had no idea, and after a while death became natural to me.
While my dad was in Stanford hospital with my mom, I had a babysitter. I lived in her home, a home where I wasn't welcome. I watched over my younger sister, put up with bullies, did homework and more. Every night I wished for my mommy to call me. That's all I wanted at the time. I just wanted to talk to her.
After my dad came home to stay, I realized hospital life hadn't changed him. He was still my hateful, rude, cussing and insensitive dad. He hurt me most when he didn't even know. Every time he opened his mouth, nothing but hurtful things hit my ears. I felt useless and unwanted. My mom had me again, take consoling for a while, because I had been talking about death a lot.
Now I am in the eighth grade, and hating life. I mean, I want to live life. I want to enjoy it. I just can't find the motivation. I'm always sad and trying and trying to be better than I am. I've recently become victim to bulimia and what I believed was 'fasting'. I've also been having problems within my family. More like my mom and I. I think she's found out about me writing on myself and cutting. I write on myself a lot, marking myself with phrases such as 'Not good enough' or 'fat=ugly’ on my stomach area. I've only cut myself a few times, but only in areas that no one would see, such as my waist, torso and thighs. I'm ashamed of myself, and it hurts. I just want to be okay again, though I can’t remember a time when I was okay. I’ve had suicidal thoughts for a long time, but I’m too scared to try. I’m weak, and I know it. I can’t stand to look in the mirror, trying to improve every day. And feeling every day that I’m a failure.
I had a mini meltdown the other day, and a threat to kill myself slipped out. I meant it, and my mom knew it. She told me that if I ever said that again, she’d commit it. Which basically means send me to a mental hospital. But maybe that’d be good for me; things will only get worse, right? It’s better than going to high school, which I’m terrified of. I’ve heard too many stories about high school; I just don’t think I can go through it. I’ve been extremely popular before, but I gave that up a while ago. I’ve been thinking about taking consoling again, but I’d have to get my mom to get me a consular. I’d have to tell her how I feel, and I’m just not going to do that.
I know now that God doesn’t hate me, He just is challenging me, making me stronger day by day. But I don’t think He knows that it’s killing me, inside out.