Dear Friend,

It’s been 3 months since I’ve returned. Everything still feels foreign. My grades this quarter were astounding especially taking into consideration the horrendous year (in terms of grades) that came before it. Hope for my future was reignited and so was the confusion of which route to take.

The real reason I am stuck writing in the late night is that I was fired from my job a week ago. It still hasn’t sunk in, and I am, every once in a while, astonished by it. It would be nice to say that it was a blessing in disguise. Now, I have more time for studies and can work on research and other activities to ready myself for grad school. I can be less stressed and get more sleep with the draw back of no more incoming cash. I was thinking about quitting anyway. It’s all true. But none of that really matters to me right now, though it probably will eventually. All I know is that my regular schedule type thing is severely interrupted, I have no more money, I won’t see the people that I’ve grown close to very much anymore, it’ll be crazy awkward to return (which I have to do tomorrow), and I fucked up really bad. The last one may be the most damaging. I spent the last week in bed. It pushes me into this illogical state of mind I was passive aggressively taught throughout my life. ~ I am irresponsible. Everything that goes wrong around me is my fault. I am not good enough. In the end, I mess everything up. I won’t get very far. It’s better if I just get out of the way. ~ Under normal circumstances this would ignite a fiery wrath inside me ready destroy these blasphemous ideas. But I have fallen into a valley knowing the real consequences of my inadequacies. I wonder if I would ever be stable to enough to keep a long term job. Will I continue to roll up and down the hills, going in and out of jobs with poor misguided companies that decided I would be a good employee? 

I started taking pills 2 years ago and honestly the first year was a train wreck because I kept forgetting to take them. The second year I was extremely consistent until about 4 weeks ago. It was better, but still not at the point where I want to be. When I started I took 5mg. Then got symptoms that said that was too big a dose so I went down to 2.5mg. Whenever I had another deep trough the dose was increased. Now I am at 10mg and I’m hitting another trough and want to go up again. I have an appointment to see my doctor but I wonder why was it the does continues to increase. The increases have positive effects but why is it so large when in the beginning this large of a dose would have had bad side effects? Is there no hope for my brain to sustain normal levels of serotonin? I’ll have to ask. I know my biggest problem is consistency but I honestly don’t know the level it’ll stay at.

I am a person proudly built upon the reliability of logic and the necessity of confidence.  The truth is, in my times of weakness I have self-destructive tendencies. Nearly everyday questions that relate to a mindset of low self-esteem hold no more merit than a nuance so far removed from my own sense of self that it is only a silly passing thought. Today I caught myself in the web of doubt. Rarely does this occur, but it does. I felt the waves of self-pity accompanied with emotional responses to illogical conclusions about my self-worth.  How is it that this is possible? Questions: about my importance to certain individuals that have never had their loyalties questioned, insinuating my dismal future, about if I had more worth than a dog.

They don’t even fucking care about me anyway. Why should I give a fuck?

I’m such a fuck up I’m never going to get anywhere.

Why don’t I just live out the rest of my life drugged up so I can get some peace if only for a second?

She never did this much for me. I’m crippled because she never gave a shit, but the second her dog is having a minute issue it gets excessive amounts of attention. Am I really worth less than her stupid dog?

I’ll never get over depression, I should just give up it’ll make my life easier.

I try to shove them down into the shadows. But I am so confused. Have these insecurities been lurking under the surface and I never let them see the daylight or is it all together a symptom of yet another low of my depression cycle. Taken purely from a logical standpoint without any bias, evidence strongly suggests none of these comments have any merit.  I am not used to thinking about myself in any context similar to this. But now I rightfully question, is all my “confidence” a smokescreen for these damaging thoughts? I would ask my friends that have body-image issues, why or how could they ever think they were anything but beautiful. I just can’t comprehend this.

I started writing unsure and unhappy with my life.  Now, I am disgusted by the ridiculousness of these thoughts.  I feel reestablished full of convictions. I don’t know what this was, but it doesn’t matter, not until the next wave of solicited self-pity.

I do feel out of place though. I keep trying to work out my future. There are so many options I don’t know which road will be most likely. All  I know is that I want to get away from here. I’d prefer to go to maybe London where I’d be close to some real family. Or return to the bay. I miss Paris a lot. I miss Europe. This desire stems from 2 parts wanting new experiences and 3 parts running away. There’s something about a fresh new start that calls to me.

Dear Friend,

I’m supposed to leave the house in an hr and a half for the airport. I couldn’t sleep because of all this anger. I so badly wish I could tell her all I think without crying and  looking like a hysterical child. 

I am tired of your shit. You can’t force us to like each other and you can’t force us to love you. There’s a reason why nobody loves you. It’s because you are a manipulative bitch and everyone knows it. You talk like you want to fix things but all you do is fuck everything up more. Why can’t you just be human for once, be a fucking human. You don’t even know how to be nice for a day. Stop telling people I want to be a doctor like you had anything to do with it. I am going to be great despite your abuse. You have absolutely no right to be proud of me. 

You’re the reason why Jack’s fucked up. You fucked him up. If we grew up without you we’d be fine. We would be so much better. I wouldn’t be so god damn hurt all the time. You never loved us and that fucked us up so bad. You put yourself in the lonely shithole and don’t you dare drag me in with you. 

You should know now, you can’t force me to do shit. I was going to come back home and try with you. Give you a chance. But you fucked it up before it started. And trust me this is the last fucking time. I will never love you and I don’t see how anyone else ever could. You don’t love me or Jack either no matter how much you like to pretend. A mother doesn’t say “you are no longer my child” or refuses to offer a safe in environment at the child’s request. I am not your pet to be forced in every which direction you desire. The more you try to push me the further I will walk away from your sorry life. 

I’ve hated you since I was little and you can’t think anything about the way you treat people enough to realize why.  Have a nice life.

It’s time to get up.

Jade

Dear Friend,

I am fucking angry!

My flight leaves to go back home in 8 hours. I get a call from mom that goes something like this.

-so your brothers home. i’m going to buy him a car. he wants to talk about cars with you.

=you can’t just pretend like nothing happened!

-what are you talking about? what do you want? he’s okay now.

=i want to know what he thinks.  and i dont care if you think he’s okay! you thought he was okay before and you think so now. i dont believe you.

-he wasn’t okay before alright. but he’s okay now. you’ll see. you should talk to him. (first admittance that maybe him taking a knife to my throat was not okay.)

=i am not going to talk to him unless someone else is there. it is not safe and i am not going to do it any other way.

-i’ll be there

=you won’t do anything. you don’t make it safer. i want my friend there in the corner so if he take out another knife we can run.

-no. this is for the family only. its my house and they cannot come.

=i will not do it unless its safe. do you not get that? do you care that i dont feel safe.

-its not dangerous. hes okay now.

=i dont care if you think he’s okay. you always think he’s okay. 

and the conversation continued with further irritation. i came home and called my dad. he said he already told her we cant stay in the same place. i told him to call her again. afterwards he just said shes mad at him and we have to figure it out.

I was starting to feel the sympathy my family here has for my mom. That’s all gone now. She planned this. She planned for it to happen hours before my flight so I couldn’t find another plan. She didn’t take care of my car so I can’t even sleep in it. No one’s left in Riverside that I can ask for help. She knows I won’t leave without my dogs. She withheld my refund and didn’t give me anything for Paris so I have no more money. The financial aide office won’t open for a while so I can’t increase my loans. So she pushed me into a corner. I’m trapped. 

Welcome Home,

Jade

Cher Ami,

I just had a long conversation with my aunt.

She was saying…

how me and my brothers should love each other. It’s not too late.

that there’s only one thing certain in life mom and family. that moms are the only ones that you can be sure of their love because everyone else moves in and out. that my dad will eventually marry someone else and be separate.

but abusive parents are a completely other story.

what really got me feeling guilty was when she pulled in my schizophrenic uncle.

she said that they were afraid of him and he hurt one of my other uncles alot but they still loved him because it was genetic, he couldn’t help it. if it wasn’t him it would have been one of them that ended up with the short straw. Family is supposed to love each other.

I didn’t say anything back. I didn’t know what to say and if I did I’m not sure I’d be able to verbalize it. Not to mention the fact that I was failing at trying not to cry and that she was speaking viet/eng/french all together in the same sentence so I had to pay really close attention.  Both her and my grandmother keep trying to push a family agenda on me. That next year I should spend christmas with her because they feel bad for her that she’s all alone. My brother doesn’t have a debilitating mental disorder. He’s mostly emotionally fucked up like me and the other 90% of it is stupidity. I feel like because he is consciously knowing what he’s doing it makes what he did worse. I say I’m done after the whole knife thing, but she thinks just a knife isn’t supposed to make you give up on family.

The thing is, she made it that way. She treats anyone who is around her for a second like shit and she thinks everyone else that she hasn’t spoken to yet is a shithead. What the fuck else would have happened. I don’t have sympathy for her. My aunt keeps explaining her let’s call it “personality” is due to the fact that when my mom was a baby my grandma had to work downstairs and had no time to care for her. My mom had a shitty babysitter that wouldn’t even change her diapers and just let her cry all day. It didn’t help that my grandma’s practically deaf too. My aunt explains it as a psychological longing for someone to take care of her and that baby’s who aren’t comforted when they cry lack self confidence.  I kind of roll my eyes at this. I don’t really give a fuck because like I’ve said, if I was the product of my childhood I’d be a drug addict on the streets AND I’d still probably treat people better than my mom does. But I may be biased (but not really).

I’ve decided tomorrow I am going to tell my aunt as much of my side as I can, thing is it is so hard to keep it straight and really describe it. Times like this I sort of wish she just beat the crap out of me so it would be simply understood when I say she broke 3 of my ribs and both my arms. I wouldn’t have to justify it, or explain it, or say anymore. *whine alert* I am going to try my best to actually describe the basket case that is the woman who gave birth to me and the reasons why I will never love her.

When I was maybe around five she tried to make me hug her. I ran away into my room. There was no lock and I tried to but I was too little to keep the door closed against her force. She pushed her way in. I ran to the farthest point of my room on my bed and hugged my pillow crying as she slowly advanced and eventually made me hug her. I think she likes it when I am afraid. 

Writing has always been a struggle for me. In fourth grade, I just couldn’t understand how to use commas and I needed to know for my homework. So I asked her. Her english is atrocious by the way. She tried to explain it to me, I assume she was making it up, and I couldn’t understand it. Then she pulls out an english textbook from college and reads me the definition and I still don’t get it. Then she starts hitting me. I am crying and she keeps reading the college textbook and I still don’t understand. All I want to do is know how to use a fucking comma.  (ironically I am sure I have used commas incorrectly throughout this blog) Eventually I just lie and say I understand because I am tired of getting beat. 

When I was in jr. high she would drive my to school in the morning. She would say “I love you” before I got out of the car which instantly made me get out faster to avoid the awkwardness. One day she said it and the grabbed me by the arm. “Say ‘I love you too!” “No!” I struggled but couldn’t pull away from her grasp. She doesn’t let go until I mumble it and run to class crying. 

I played basketball for 5 years. I was usually the leading scorer and rebounder. After every game she would tell me how horribly I did. The only time she would say shit like “good game” was if other parents were nearby and saying that to their kids or back to me. To me it just sounded like a passive aggressive way for her to get me to quit playing on my own so she wouldn’t be obligated to take me to games and practices; or she could just be a raging bitch.

For three of those five years (once I figured out I could do this), I would tell her that practiced started an hour earlier and ended and hour later than it actually did as to avoid being home in her presence. I never did anything. I’d either play ball outside or just sit around doing nothing.

A few times I see her put a beer or whatever alcoholic beverage in the fridge in the middle shelf and I can tell she puts it in a very specific arrangement. Like between the ketchup and mustard with the label facing left with the liquid exactly an inch from the edge of the nutrition facts. I know she does this to see if I’ll take the bait because one time I moved the bottle to get to shit in the fridge behind it. She had a huge “I knew it!” moment and accused me of drinking her alcohol and I go, “uh… no. it was in front of the apples.” And she squints her eyes at me saying, “I know you’re lying” and walks away.

I could always tell who was walking up the stairs by the sounds of their steps. Every time I heard hers coming up the stairs I held my breath and hoped she turned before the direction of my room.

For a few years I was so afraid of her I would come home and hide in my room and only leave to grab food or go to school the next day. You could never tell when she was going to turn from calm to a screaming ball of anger finding anything and everything as a reason to scream at me. But you could definitely tell if she was in a monster madness the second you walk into the house and that’s when I ran really fast up to my room.

After thanksgiving one year, in the car on the way home from the party with the whole family there. She asks me if I am happy. I say no. She asks why. I say because I want to play basketball. She says too bad you can’t that’s it. I don’t think this describes appropriately how fucking afraid I was from the start of this conversation. But for the rest of the way home I was crying. I guess a bunch of people at the party were asking her why I looked so sad. But I mean everyone kept asking me how basketball was going and that was the year my mom said I couldn’t play anymore. She didn’t like that I made her look bad so she actually took the offensive against me. After I wasn’t allowed to play basketball any more I cried every night for about a year and a half. I couldn’t play again for a good 4 years. I used to “sneak out” by saying I was going for a jog then go to the gym and watch my teammates practice without me. 

I could probably think of a lot more trivial occurrences but I think the bigger indicator is the way I turned out.

I wince when I hear the words “i love you.” Before when people used to touch me in a slightly affectionate manner like a hand on the arm or a hug I’d shove them off. Now, I just resist the urge to throw them across the room. I’ve been in counselling for 3 consecutive years to deal with these defense mechanisms. I learned so many really efficiently as a way to protect myself from the low blows.  I’ve had depression since I was about 10, maybe earlier. When I was younger than that I used to always wish she’d give me bruises so I could show someone and they’d take me away. In high school, I used to mess around with boys I didn’t really care much about so I could feel something. I can’t think about her without becoming white hot angry or crying. I took a quarter of Vietnamese and I was so threatened and afraid of this kind Vietnamese professor and I cried in the back of the class everyday.

It is very difficult for me to describe the type of abuse that went on. Sometimes I feel like i am holding on to blind rage blaming her for my condition of shatters but I don’t see how anything else that had happened was big enough to damage me so deeply. I am leaving in 2 days. I want her to understand my side because the only thing she hears is from my mom. 

Here Comes the Tears,

Jade