Dear Society: You're Part Of My Misery, So Don't Try To Pretend That You're Helping

Anonymous Anonymous in Culture Shock on 18 December, 2017

To the person who bore me for eight months and twenty days, I have a question for you: What was it like to finally see me in absolute resemblance to your ‘better half’?

To the man who I was introduced to as a father, why was I not reason enough for you to live a better life? Why didn’t you push me away, when I was four years old, begging you to stay away from the bottle? Why did you make me false promises?

And where are you now? When I need you the most?

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To the relatives who used to come over, on holidays, weekends and other feast days, why didn’t you save me, instead of mocking my family as we tried to stitch ourselves back together?

Where were you all, when my father would cry out in pain, confused between imagination and reality, after his second surgery?

Where were you all, when my mother would hit me, every single night, as though I were a rodent? Where were you all, when my mother forced me to drink a chemical solution, promising me that it would all get better after I had it? When she convinced me that after swallowing it, I would finally find peace.

To my teachers, didn’t you see that I was eager to learn? That I wanted to stay, there between the pages of my books? But those numbers, they wouldn’t stop dancing in front of me.

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To my dear friends, aren’t you aware, that I would never, ever, reach out to you and ask you to help me? Even though I am drowning?

To all those people who told me, assured me, that I would get over the passing of my father, how long did it take for you to get over the death of your parent?

To those people who constantly tell me that my childhood was just one part of my life and that I need to move on and not use it as a crutch for all my insecurities and negativities, where are you now? When I break out into wails for no reason? When the howls in my chest leave me gasping for breath?

Where are you when I have recurring nightmares, of my parents murdering me and all those I know, standing around, white as corpses, laughing at me.

Where are you, when, at the end of the day, I’m so tired, tired and alone, and sick of faking a smile all day, but also, too scared to let exhaustion take over and fall asleep?

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To those who think I’m not grateful to be ‘alive’: do you know, what it’s like to be breathing, but know that you’re not truly living? Do you know how suffocating that is?

To all those who force me to go to the gym, to eat healthy, to stay fit, do you know what it’s like to have body image issues? To wonder when I’ll look good enough for people to say that it’s enough?

Do you know that along with your persistence, I need your patience to?

To those people who are wondering why I’m not marrying, at this age that I’m ‘supposed’ to be married, have you thought for a second that there’s no nice way for me to tell you to mind your own business and that’s why I listen to this rant of yours?

Imagine, I’m trying to spare your feelings, while you rain down on mine.

Tell me something, all you wonderful people out there, who seem to have all the answers to the questions you ask me, can you answer the questions that I’ve asked you?

That’s definitely one answer I have, and know.   

Editor's Note:

Share this story, to remind people that we all come with our own stories; it's best to be mindful of this fact before judging someone.