I Want to Start a New Life
My biological family hurts me. They don't really accept me for who I am as a person. I don't know what it is, but I can never live up, never appease. And I've always had low self-esteem because of it. My mother always told me someone else was better than me. She told me never to believe I'm good at anything, because everyone else is probably better. My dad never praised me. Never told me I was beautiful. They only ever said they loved me when we would fight and they needed to win me over to their side. I was never congratulated for the good things I accomplished, only punished for what I did wrong. I was always a failure, always falling, never allowed to cry. Never allowed to be discontent. I didn't know what happiness really was.
Then I moved out. What exactly happened my first week of college, I'm still not sure, but whatever it was, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. My dorm hall houses fifty people. That first week, we all bonded and became inseparable. People...liked me. They wanted to talk to me. They thought I was smart and talented. I didn't believe it. I would get on these highs, these happy, joyous moments, when I felt I was loved, and then I would be on my own, doing homework or something, and then my own thoughts and doubts would bombard me, and I would sink lower and lower until I would just lock my door and start crying in my room. The bouts of depression kept going, and my parents kept trying to control me from a distance, lecturing me on what I was doing wrong, scolding me for not informing them of certain aspects of my life. I could hardly do my homework because every time I'd look at my computer, I'd remember the scathing facebook messages my dad would send me. All I could believe was that I really was worthless. Hopeless.
But my hallmates saw me. They noticed I was hurting. They saw my puffy eyes, the way I would hastily wipe my tears as they came around. And to my shock, they cared. It mattered to them that I was upset. They actually cared and wanted to help me back up, not like my family who just wanted me to stop crying so their reputation as perfect parents wouldn't be scarred.
Winter break was the longest, worst four weeks of my life. The only way I got by was by talking with my hallmates every night online, and my friend who would text me at any hour of the day. I finally came back here--back home--yesterday morning. And I have smiled and laughed more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last month.
I can't go back for spring break. I can't go back over the summer. I am staying here. I am never. Ever. Going back. I am leaving behind my biological family. I am starting fresh. Hello, twenty-twelve. The year I started over.
Then I moved out. What exactly happened my first week of college, I'm still not sure, but whatever it was, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. My dorm hall houses fifty people. That first week, we all bonded and became inseparable. People...liked me. They wanted to talk to me. They thought I was smart and talented. I didn't believe it. I would get on these highs, these happy, joyous moments, when I felt I was loved, and then I would be on my own, doing homework or something, and then my own thoughts and doubts would bombard me, and I would sink lower and lower until I would just lock my door and start crying in my room. The bouts of depression kept going, and my parents kept trying to control me from a distance, lecturing me on what I was doing wrong, scolding me for not informing them of certain aspects of my life. I could hardly do my homework because every time I'd look at my computer, I'd remember the scathing facebook messages my dad would send me. All I could believe was that I really was worthless. Hopeless.
But my hallmates saw me. They noticed I was hurting. They saw my puffy eyes, the way I would hastily wipe my tears as they came around. And to my shock, they cared. It mattered to them that I was upset. They actually cared and wanted to help me back up, not like my family who just wanted me to stop crying so their reputation as perfect parents wouldn't be scarred.
Winter break was the longest, worst four weeks of my life. The only way I got by was by talking with my hallmates every night online, and my friend who would text me at any hour of the day. I finally came back here--back home--yesterday morning. And I have smiled and laughed more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last month.
I can't go back for spring break. I can't go back over the summer. I am staying here. I am never. Ever. Going back. I am leaving behind my biological family. I am starting fresh. Hello, twenty-twelve. The year I started over.
By:
deleted
Age:
26-30
