Have you ever woke up one morning and realised that all your life you have been playing a part? That your family, the people who should know and love you best, truly don't know you at all? After a long series of terrible events I have come to the conclusion that I don't seem to matter, if I ever did. My mother is manipulative and plays favourites, which I have never been. Being born as a female instead of the male she thought that I was going to be (sonograms back in the 80's weren't as accurate as they are now) sealed that fate for me. She had my name picked out and everything and when I was born a girl I spent a week without a name and my mother having to adjust to the fact that I was a girl. Of course she loved me like all mothers love their infants, but she was distant always so distant. When my brother was born next he was christened with the name that she had chosen for my then male thought self. She loved him from the get go and bonded with him from the time he exited the womb. He was always her favourite, the one who could do no wrong, the golden child, and the one who was perfect in her eyes. I was cast aside in a way once he entered the picture. I always heard my whole life that since we had no father figure (well until the stepmonster entered the picture, I was 6 I think) that he needed extra guidance and care since he was a boy and needed that male attention. I was always in trouble with some little thing or another. I acted out for attention and I only ever was punished. Even then as a 5 or 6 year old I felt bitter and resentment. What 5 or 6 year old child should ever have to feel those emotions? Growing up was harsh, I learned at an early age to conceal the hurt and hide myself away behind a mask. Anger was an acceptable outlet, that's what I learned from my parents anyways. I was always fighting for my mother's attention, affection, and love. However I never got it. I think I was 10 when I started thinking of my mother as just a person that I lived with (although I would never admit that to anyone let alone myself). With my stepmonsters anger problem and somewhat verbal and physical abuse from him and my mother's cold distance I was left floundering and had to raise myself. My grandmother was their somewhat, but I was still alone, always alone. The golden child was perfect until high school (perfect grades, popular, athletic, outgoing, etc...) while I was self-conscious, struggled a bit in school, and was awkward. Once my brother injured himself for good and could no longer play sports he started to slip down to seemingly mortal limits. It was then he started to use drugs, drink, and do all sorts of unperfect things. The thing is that the whole family knew what was going on, but they were in denial that their perfect child could be anything but ok. In middle school and high school I was suicidal, a cutter, bulimic, anorexic, and a multitude of many other self-destructive habits. Unlike my brother I tried reaching out to my parents for help, but they always turned me away not believing that I had any problems even when the signs and clues were so blatantly clear (I'll never forgive them for that.) My brother then spent the next 5-6 years of his life dropping out of high school, wasting all his money on drugs, stealing from the family, and countless other terrible things. Finally last month the family sent him to rehab. I discovered last week that he had stolen every valuable piece of jewelry that I own (including my grandmother's wedding rings that she passed on to me when she died). I was devestated and told my family what happened and was told that I wasn't the only one who had been stolen from, that it was the drugs. Now ladies and gentlemen this is a 23 year old man and he has never had to be accountable for anything in his life. Nothing has ever been his fault. My grandmother was the only one in my family who ever showed her love and acceptance for me. She was the only one who helped and supported me over the years. I still feel her loss deep in my soul and still hurt so grievously. For him to steal one of the most precious things that I own (one of the few things that I have as hers) kills me and it stabs at my heart and soul. Of course I am not allowed to say anything or confront him about it, nor am I able to openly be angry about it because Goddess forbid it disrupts his recovery. Fuck him and his recovery. I am so fucking sick of having to sacrifice my happiness and hide myself away because of them. I hate them so much, but at the same time I love them. Talk about unhealthy relationships. No wonder I don't let anyone close to me at all. I no longer feel safe or comfortable in my own home. My family has lost all of my trust and confidence. After I finish with my schooling I am going to leave here and never come back. I have been hurt too much, so much and I am exhausted of pretending. The only reason I am still alive to this day is because of my grandmother and my best friend. No one knows how close I came to ending it a few times. My soul hurts, my heart is shattered into a million different pieces. No matter how broken I am on the inside no one ever knows. Anyways that's it for now.
~Ember Rose~
