“Please just please make her love me. All I want is her love. My mother’s love.”
I desperately looked up at yet another imaginary friend, Justin. My brother Justin.
He looked at me with his pale, freckled face and laughed. Laughed at the thought of me believing such a thought about my Mother.
“What do you mean she never loved you Brit? Mom only resents you.” And began smiling that oh so slick smile, he always had. Especially when he believed he was being a “smart ass” as he called it.
I looked up at my pale, very pale, imaginary brother, and began sobbing. “Why would you say that? Why do none of you love me?”
All I wanted was to be loved by my mother. My brother. And even my horrific adoptive father. I never understood why I was always the ugly, blue duckling in their eyes.
I just wanted all this pain to stop. I just wanted the numbness to overtake. I just wanted control. Even if it was just for a split second. I just needed that control.
That sense of feeling anyways.
So in this particular moment, as my brother was laughing hysterically at me, I stood up fiercely, pushed my imaginary brother. And stormed into my room.
I found the stash, the stash I saved for a rainy afternoon. The pill stash that would help me have control. Especially in a moment like this one.
I slowly took the blue bars out of the zip lock baggy. One by one. And counting them slowly, for some strange reason.
After the procrastination, I began putting all the devilish bars into the palm of my hand. As I brought the pills up to my very, very exhausted, palish blue lips, my whole life decided to flash in front of my face.
And it wasn’t the moments of happiness as seen in the movies. The “moment” that stops those that want to have control of their lives. Reminding them of all the grateful memories they’ve had throughout their entire life. No, my memories were thoughts when I didn’t have any control.
The moment I knew my adoptive father videotaped me. The moment he stripped the last bit of innocence I had left. My father already decided to haunt me with his hands when I was a child, I guess he just needed to take that one step farther.
The moment where my mother lied to protect my father. Because quite sadly my imaginary brother was correct, she resented me.
Even though, she is the one that chose to have me. Somehow her choices became my mistakes. Funny how denial works like that.
And those just kept looping and looping. To the point where I dropped to my knees and those bluish pills soon followed.
All of them scattered throughout my carpet floor.
I screamed at myself, “CAN I JUST DO ANYTHING RIGHT?” And once again sobbed, sobbed myself to my bed. To sleep. With all the pills on the floor.
Just hoping to get caught by my so-called parents. Hoping that I had an escape, an escape from their so-called love. Their controlling, manipulative love.
And yet again I woke up. I woke up to the pills on the floor. And not a soul checking to make sure I was even breathing.
Just as much as I hoped to die. My parents truly hoped I would do it, so their secrets would be hushed.
So once again, I picked up the pills, counted them yet again, and put them back into the closet for another rainy day.
Put myself together and walked out of my parent’s house, and had a smile from ear to ear as if nothing happened.
Not a soul could possibly know that pain I felt the day before nor would anyone have any sort of idea.
I am quite the actress when I want to be. Faking being happy is my specialty. And at this time just four years back, I knew how to fool just about anyone around me. I did learn from the best parents after all.
And I am not telling this story to just babble on and on about how hard my life was. I am babbling on and on to help others realize, we need to always be kind. Because none of us truly know what one goes through. Remain humble and patient. And please, please remember that those that smile hurt too.