S
shells
Guest
There is no eloquent way to put it. My grandmother makes me feel worthless. She constantly criticizes everything I do from how fat I am getting, to my grades, to stupid little things like my ****** penmanship, getting called a 'slob' for accidentally spilling milk. I want to be angry, but it just ends up backfiring on me. I feel self-hatred for myself.
I realize I can't blame her completely for my lack of confidence, my self-hatred started years ago. And from it, I developed an eating disorder and have made an effort to recover these past few months. She just keeps adding fuel to the fire. I don't think I have a chance of overcoming this battle anymore. All I want to do is disappear.
I've always been sensitive. She says that I'm "not tough enough" for the real world. Maybe she's right. Everything she does to me translates to "you're just not good enough."
After losing my mom at sixteen, and dad to his insanity, I would say that I'm more grown up than most eighteen-year-olds my age. I've attended two years of college while still in high school, maintained decent grades, participated in two national honor societies, and been a varsity athlete for four years. I know it sounds like I'm gloating here, but why can't she recognize how far I have come?
I am human, and my feelings get hurt. I often laugh and shrug it off. Later, I'll end up tossing ideas around in my head on how to end my life, and then crying myself to sleep. I'm not made of stone, even though I pretend I am.
I realize I can't blame her completely for my lack of confidence, my self-hatred started years ago. And from it, I developed an eating disorder and have made an effort to recover these past few months. She just keeps adding fuel to the fire. I don't think I have a chance of overcoming this battle anymore. All I want to do is disappear.
I've always been sensitive. She says that I'm "not tough enough" for the real world. Maybe she's right. Everything she does to me translates to "you're just not good enough."
After losing my mom at sixteen, and dad to his insanity, I would say that I'm more grown up than most eighteen-year-olds my age. I've attended two years of college while still in high school, maintained decent grades, participated in two national honor societies, and been a varsity athlete for four years. I know it sounds like I'm gloating here, but why can't she recognize how far I have come?
I am human, and my feelings get hurt. I often laugh and shrug it off. Later, I'll end up tossing ideas around in my head on how to end my life, and then crying myself to sleep. I'm not made of stone, even though I pretend I am.