I Don’t Write to Hurt You…

Hi everyone,

So this post might be a bit of a different post, because today I just needed to write it down and get it off my chest, without feeling sorry for writing it, so here we go:

Ever since I was a little girl, I have had this obsession with being perfect. I needed to always look presentable, wear the right clothes, be nice, have a lot of friends and the list goes on forever. I think it started out with me getting praise for having my homework done, be a “good” student and me being nice in class. I guess it is normal when you are in primary school to want to please your teachers and not be a problem for your parents, but at some point while I was growing up, it took a turn for the worse.

When I was in middle school, it got really bad, I was so obsessed with being the nice girl, the smart girl, the girl who had a lot of friends, I wanted everyone to like me, I thrived on the praise I got from my teachers. I lived for the praise I got, and I would only feel like I was “okay” if I got praise, and every time I someone would joke about something I said or did, or if I got an answer to a question wrong I would hate myself even more.

Everyone thought I was happy, because what did I have to be sad about? I had everything I needed. But I wasn’t happy, I didn’t realise it at the time but I felt so broken and unloved, and I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to express these feeling I had, so I kept going with the same mask I have had on since I was a kid.

But in 7th grade, things changed, a lot. I was becoming more and more unhappy. I was sick all the time. I was angry at home (but only at home, because nobody was allowed to see that something was wrong). For me, 7th grade was one of the worst years I had in school. Partly because I was told by a teacher that I needed to get it together because I had too many “sick” days. All I wanted to do, was scream and ask if the teacher couldn’t see how miserable I was? But I didn’t do that, because I believed that I had to be perfect in the eyes of everyone else, so ended up telling the teacher “I am sorry, I will do better and work harder”. After I hade this talk with my teacher, I had my first anxiety attack, because I slowly felt like everything was crumbling.

At this point, everything just got worse, and without realising what was happening, I had built these tall walls around me, because no one was allowed to get to know me. Because then they would see how messed up I was, how imperfect I was. It almost feels like these walls are some of the big fences with barb wire all over, because no one was, and is, allowed to get in. It got so bad that I ended up having a complete breakdown in October/November of 8th grade, where I was diagnosed with depression for the first time.

After I had my first, and probably my biggest breakdown, I got so focused on being perfect that it consumed all of my time. I didn’t want to stand out, I wanted to be just like everyone else. I was so focused on being this sweet and polite girl, who would get praise from her teachers and parents. I wanted everyone else to think my life was amazing. Maybe one day I will share what I did to cope with everything, but I am not ready to share all of that just yet.

Maybe you are wondering, “why am I even writing this?”, well to tell you the truth, I so tired of keeping everything in, I am tired of keeping all the bullshit that happened in my life to myself, just because I am afraid that what I say might hurt the people who didn’t treat me right. I am so tired of reliving all of the scenarios in my life that has hurt me so deeply, and not be able to say it out loud because it might upset or hurt the people involved. I am tired of dreaming about it every night. I am tired of feeling bad and guilty about something that was not might fault. I am tired of saying sorry, just to make other people feel at ease, even though I have nothing to be sorry about. I am just so tired of keeping everything in because I can’t breathe with all of this shit inside the walls, I so carefully built to protect myself. I am just so tired.

i don’t write
what i write
to hurt you.

– i write what i write
to heal me.

amanda lovelace, from the book the mermaid’s voice returns in this one

I read the poem above a few months ago, and these last few weeks I have realised that in order to heal from my past I need to talk about it. It still hurts too much to talk about, so I am going to write about it instead. I just need to remember that I should not be sorry for sharing MY story, no matter where, who or how I choose to share it, because I need to get it off my chest in order for me to heal.

Until next time!

2 thoughts on “I Don’t Write to Hurt You…

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