Dear Simone

Dear Younger Self,

This might be tough to hear, so have a seat.

I don’t love you because I don’t know how to be loved. I thought it consisted of mood swings, yelling, violence, and keeping people on their toes. I was never loved, so I’m not sure what that feels like. Or what that looks like.

I don’t care to nurture you because I don’t know what that looks like. Mother didn’t nurture us. She treated us like mini adults. No mother hugged us either.

I don’t care to play with you because I actually don’t know how, nor were we ever allowed to. Mother didn’t feed our imagination, but somehow expected us to have one.

I don’t care to feed you because no one really cared if we ate. And when we did, dad always criticized. Called us fat. A pig. And would tell us to gtho. We weren’t allowed to eat at the table or be seen. We weren’t allowed to eat in the room or on the floor, but that’s the only choice we had. No one cared to give us warm meals. And at some point, I would eat in the bathroom, but I got caught by dad and he called me worst names than he called you.

I’m not too worried about your hair because mother never cared. If she didn’t want to learn or try, why should I? Well, I did for a while but it became a hassle. I got lazy again and I just don’t care anymore.

I don’t care to dress you like a girl because every time you tried, mother would criticize and call you fat…a slut…ridiculous…. without sense. She wanted you to fit the “white” standard, you could never be. Your hair was black and poofy and curly and sometimes untamable. Your chest wasa C by the time you were in 7th grade and your nails were naturally long, white and clean.

Your hips were big, and your waist was small. Your body was the shape of a coke bottle… your shoulders as wide as your hips. You have a pinky toenail and your toes are stubby, but not ugly. Your skin was light but a tan could fix that. Your hair was long but mother wanted you to look like Snow White, so she force cut your hair and never let you have it long. You ended up looking like a mushroom instead. You didn’t have a butt until 11th grade. Now everyone stares at it. You had fuller eyebrows, which you plucked away until the mistake never grew back. You cared too much about shaving every single day and you were on the thicker side so you couldn’t wear shorts without your thighs rubbing against each other to a rash. Dad didn’t care to buy you your own deodorant until mom finally got tired of you using hers and accidentally used Dad’s too. He used women’s deodorant. How were you supposed to know? Your skin was always flakey and dry because only mom bought herself lotion. You were lucky to even have underwear and pads. Dad would sometimes refuse until you bled through your clothes on your bed, and he got disgusted. At one point your underwear was so old it was stretched out and see through. Just falling apart. So no, I don’t care to dress you in any way other than to blend in the background for people to ignore you.

I don’t care about your health because you were sick all the time. Mother would nag, not for your well-being but because you were a burden when you were sick. You have asthma. It was really bad when you were younger, but no one cared. Mom and dad didn’t believe you needed an inhaler, said you were being dramatic. You needed one since you were 4 years old, but they didn’t actually get in the routine of using it until 8 years old. No one believed you needed glasses. Took you 2 years to finally get glasses and they chose, not you.

I don’t care about your happiness because my whole childhood was about surviving the day or weekend. There was no joy, no harmony, no security, no safe space. Funny how mom and dad used to say, “strangers out there will never love you like your family does.” What family? What love? Strangers were always kinder than your parents.

I don’t care to heal you. I just know what I don’t like feeling. I know it’s selfish but it’s the truth.

I don’t care if you’re not proud of me. I’m not proud of me. I’m just dragging you along because I HAVE to. I’m still lost and confused, just with less emotions. And I’m an adult, so I can choose to medicate us and shove you in a box and bury you. Hopefully you never come out. And I can keep us high to feel some type of joy, maybe.

I was left with the responsibility to take care of you and me and Jeh Nay and Lilly and T.V. and mom and dad (for whatever they needed), oh and little cousins and friends. I never took care of me. So, I can’t take care of you. Dad always said it would be better if you disappeared and I don’t disagree.

Mom didn’t care about your needs, dad even less. Then when you told a teacher, they thought you were lying and when you asked for help no one really cared to try. So, I had to do it all by myself, or I guess you did then I happened at 13 years old. Thanks to you there would be no us. But deep down I wish you would have ended it because I have Jeh Nay and now I can’t. This is so unfair to say but… Why didn’t you try harder?

~Future You.