Dear Simone

800

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.

801

Dear Younger Self,

I’m back, and I have more to say. Stay seated.

I don’t care to put make-up on you. Mom always said no. She always said you’re too young. Your favorite nail polish color was white/pinkish opal creamy color. Mom never wanted to do your nails but would ask you for help with hers. In 6th grade, a friend gave you a purple eye shadow, which you wore a few times at school. The school nurse noticed, (because you needed your inhaler). She called mom to tell her what you did and of course you got in trouble.

Mom never really cared about your safety. So you were a bit adventurous and seeking high adrenaline. Sometimes you invited dangerous situations just to feel cared about. You would wish to get kidnapped, “anyone PLEASE, just use me.” Pathetic. I can’t blame you though. You didn’t know better. YOUU just wanted love. Look where that got us.

You hated dad so much; you chose someone like him. But surprise, surprise. Your choice was worse. Dad always said you were lesbian. He wasn’t wrong. I tried to change you, and mold you to who we should be, but you just couldn’t feel it.

You weren’t allowed to listen to anything other than what mom and dad played. Makes sense that you like Rock N Roll. I like rap. I started listening to the radio at 13 years old.

You were isolated and cruel. The only feelings you had were anger and sadness. That’s sad. You were always crying. Dad used to take you everywhere he went. Even if it was for adults only. That’s probably why my idea of fun is drinking, drugs, running around, gambling, smoking, THE WIND. You were exposed to too much. I used to think you were a free spirit but now I’m wondering if they were early signs of BPD or Bipolar. You were in a perfect storm. Statistics say you should have been dead by now, or pregnant as a teenager. Just letting you know; I would never let that happen. I’m too prideful.

You had maybe one birthday party or two, but one that you remember. You went to a couple of parties in elementary school but that’s it. Mom and dad didn’t like celebrating you. They still don’t. More than anything I feel shame. Shame that I made it another year and I should drink and cry for the next three days. Because no one celebrates you. I don’t care either. I do buy myself a perfume every year. At least we have one semi-tradition going on.

You don’t grow up to be anything great. You can blame mom and dad for that. Blame all the “adults.” Our intelligence is going to waste.

I have no words of encouragement or motivation for you. I just try to ignore everything and keep going. But when I rest, you come out. And you want to play. But I have nothing. No energy for you. So, I punish you too and stuff you in the box.

~ Adult you

802

Dear Younger Self,

You probably got up and took a minute. I know it’s a lot to unfold. Have another seat. We’re not done.

You spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom or closet. Dad used to tell you to just get it over with. Not sure why you didn’t succeed. I guess something wanted you to stay.

You wanted to change the world, and I’m sorry, but you didn’t. You had the perfect life picked out for you, and none of it happened. You’re probably disappointed. That makes two of us.

The love of your life leaves you and it changes you forever.

Everyone leaves you. Your kid doesn’t even want to spend time with you. No matter how much you try, you’re just rejected by everyone.

You miss most of your kid’s accomplishments because of your depression and you’re always working. And everyone makes you feel guilty for it. But you just keep going. You’re always stuck and that ends when you finally accept medication.

You have no friends and you barely talk to anyone. That time you spent with Toni… enjoy it. She rejects you too and it breaks your heart. It doesnt last but there you stay.

You were always a writer though. I’m a writer. So, thanks for that, I guess.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. You didn’t give me much to go off of.

Dad was mad at your intelligence. Mom was jealous. Don’t even try to tell her anything, she’ll just tell dad. She doesn’t help you. She reads books to you, tho. You don’t learn English until maybe 2nd grade. You’re in your own world most of the time. You have many boyfriends. If you can even call them that, starting from preschool. Walter and David were the first boyfriends you remember. Mom and dad said you had a little boyfriend in Mexico. Whatever that means. 1st grade, I think you tried focusing more on your teacher, Mrs. Trulsen. She was nice. I’m not sure what happens to her. I can’t find her. You also liked elmo and had an elmo lunch box. You ate your lunch in the cafeteria for breakfast so you wouldn’t be alone. Everyone made fun of you, and you didn’t want to step foot in the cafeteria again.

2nd grade you were the only one in science class that raised their hands and knew banana seeds were in the middle of the banana. You also had a racist teacher, Mrs. Headsnicker. You had a meeting with your parents and the principal. I don’t remember much of it. You really tried to erase it. I guess it really molded you. Now that I think back, you only had one or two “best friends.” In first grade you had Lindsey and Sanita. They didn’t think much of you really. I think it was a sign, and it was ignored. In second grade you were kicked in your private area and that definitely stuck with you. It was Sanita’s older brother. The doctors also force mom and dad to give you an inhaler. Because it’s a steroid, it makes you jittery and gain weight.

3rd grade you had Mrs. Bobnick. You loved her the most. Also, you’re bff Megan. She’s blonde. This other girl Bobby wanted to be your friend, but you were so mean to her. You were exposed to more inappropriate innuendos. This boy named Titus made comments while you were eating a banana at lunch. More reason to not eat at the lunchroom. He had anger issues too. Your bff was SA’d and you tried to help her. The librarian’s daughter was her brother’s girlfriend. You tried to get her to help. Even spoke to the social worker. But nothing was done. She was taken to California. You think about her all the time. Don’t worry, you eventually find her at your favorite casino. But she rejects you eventually. That breaks your heart. Her mom dies in 2023.

You were always sad and started S-ideation. Tried drowning in the tub a few times. You were so silly. How could you possibly think that would work? Well, I guess it’s not your fault, you were 9. Mom and dad bought you a pink sweater after Dee threw up on you at the mall. You hated that sweater, that color. You wore it anyways to hide your weight gain.

Everyone always called you weird. I’m not surprised since, you know, mom and dad gave you no social skills. People look to you for guidance, but you have no one to look to.

You kept asking for help. Pathetic. I don’t ask for what I “need,” I just figure it out. Sorry not sorry.

I don’t remember much from 4th grade. You had Ms. Vang. Pretty sure you didn’t care for her. But you needed glasses and mom, and dad finally heard you. This boy, I think was a year younger than you, decides he’s going to choose between you and another girl. Kabao Lee. She smelled so bad. Had very bad hygiene. Long black hair and she had giant flakes of dandruff falling off. And she smelled like she didnt shower or wipe herself for weeks. Like damn, you didn’t like this stupid boy but HE CHOSE HER OVER YOU !? How undesirable were you ???

In 5th grade, you had your first male teacher, Mr. Hawkinson. You admired him but he scared you and he was strict. He would get mad at you for not reading the books, but honestly you weren’t able to. Dad was always yelling at you. I think finances were hard too. You learned the most from Mr. Hawkinson in literature and pottery. Found out you loved it and you had a talent for it. His story broke your heart. He said he was in his 20’s when he had a girlfriend that died from a car accident. He never recovered from that. He was in his 50’s by the time he taught you. So sad. I still wonder what happened to him.

By the way, you were going through a lot of extra things. Like you would constantly get styes, and your sisters were born, and you didn’t speak much so the school put you in ESL, you had a Puerto Rican social worker. She wasn’t much help, Etc.

To be continued…

~ Frustrated You

803

Dear Younger Self,

You guessed it…continued. Have another seat.

In first grade you were playing with dolls with the bus driver’s daughter, Ericka. But it turned S. She told her mom, who reported it to the teachers, and you weren’t allowed to speak or play together anymore.

Paranoia starts kicking in/panic attacks in the shower. It didn’t help that mom would buy under the sea curtains. You kept feeling like sharks would attack. There was an incident where the door was locked, and you couldn’t get out and you yelled for help. Dad came to the door, but you felt like he was pulling it shut rather than help you open it. You cried and told mom; she didn’t believe you. Your dad’s brothers come into the U.S. and eventually they have you translate for their girlfriends. One of them even thought it was weird. The rest were ok with it. Thinking back, everyone was sick. Your favorite uncle goes to prison for drugs, then gets deported. He used to live down the hall. He was the one that helped you guys move. Everyone witnesses him beating his girlfriends. You met 3 of your aunts that year. Toni, Eve and Vee. You also found out that year that one of your uncles smells women’s underwear in the laundry. Your uncles flirted with everyone. It was pretty disgusting. There was a girl down the hall who was a few years younger than you, her name was Alondra. She had a brother who, unsure what his name is but that was the first person you met with autism. At the time you didn’t understand it. You were mean to him too. He called you ugly and you told him “That’s why your dad is in prison.” He cried about it, you denied it. I rarely think about that, but it comes up from time to time.

You were allowed to play twice outside. There were some hedges by the garages. That was the first time you saw lady bugs lay eggs on leaves. You ended up having roller skates and scraped your knee. Your hamsters died and mom and dad said they buried them in the little forest behind the building. Your bird flew away etc. After you got hurt and went upstairs (you lived on the third floor), you walked into your room only to find your mother reading your diary. All the feelings and boys you thought about were just out in the open now. That might have been your villain arc. Good thing you didn’t write about the ACTUAL crush you had on the blonde, curly haired, curvy nurse at school ! She did it so casually too. Like it was her right. In your sweetest voice, you asked her “why are you reading my diary?” “Well, because I can.” That was it. That’s the answer you got for feeling exposed. The book was gold, very princessy. It had a lock and everything.

She lied to you. She bought it for you and told you that, it was your safe space but then invaded it. That’s probably the reason you hate gold. And it’s not like you needed more reasons to not trust your mom. You don’t try to write again until 8th grade. But your math teacher tells on you. He tells them you were writing poems in class and there she goes through your stuff again.

You tried to use regular notebooks but there’s no escaping her snooping. She was even willing to go through the trash and put back the things you threw away or mentioned it or tried to glue/tape things back together. That’s how you learned all the “sneaky,” I guess. You were always being watched.

~ Paranoid You

804

Dear Younger Self,

You’re probably pacing back n forth with a hundred thoughts per minute. You can keep pacing. Just listen…

7th grade, this is where the “harder” part starts. I didn’t know it was you yelling at me the whole time. You needed help, so I got us a therapist at school. Mom and dad found out and they expected the therapist to tell them what you spoke about. That’s how we learned about HIPPA. I tried to protect you; it angered me for you. Mom said that you were 2 or 3 when she told you not to eat the rat poison and as soon as she turned around, you tried a little bit. Goes to show you started this ideation long before I did.

At 3 years old you spent a lot of time with dad and slept a lot. Mom worked during the day so he could work at night. She would leave food out for you by your play kitchen and told you not to bother him. Not to ask him for anything. That’s probably where your cold food fixation came from. He also forced you to sleep through everything. Every emotion. You only knew Spanish, and they called you by a different name, that they hadn’t changed yet until you were 7, I believe. Talk about confusing.

Mom would steal change from dad. That was the only way she could buy anything. You two would leave in secret while he was at work or after he called. He always expected mom to be by the phone in case he needed something or called. She would tell you not to tell dad or else he’d get mad. You kept her secrets. She never kept yours.

Your classroom consisted of more Asian and white kids. Everyone bullied you. Not sure why. You liked Bugs Bunny. After your uncles came to the state, you all went to the mall. You loved going to the Disney store. You thought it was the coolest thing ever. They bought you a grey outfit. Long skirt, tank and sweater. During recess the kids told you, you looked ugly.

No one wanted to play with you. Your crush Robbie even tripped you. It was a gloomy day. There was a puddle where you fell. Your legs went up in a circle and they all laughed at you. You cried the rest of the day. Your hair was a mess, and everything was stained now. When you got home mom yelled at you for getting it dirty and your hair was undone. You didn’t tell her why and you never wanted to wear it again. But you didn’t want to get rid of it. She didn’t understand, just criticized. Told you, you begged for that outfit just to get it dirty and not want to wear it again. Now you HAD TO WEAR IT. You would just cry and tell her no because it’s stained in the butt area. Looks like you pooped yourself. Mom kept saying “what do you care what other people think !?” You wanted to tell her, “Mom, they pushed me down !” But you said nothing. You became a brick wall.

Most of your toys were stuffed animals, from Savers. At one point you had so many, mom nailed them to the wall, for all of them to just stare at you. If you moved one, she’d get mad because she worked so hard on that. “But they’re mine.” She told you just to listen. Brick wall, again.

Since you were allowed to read, you wanted to write your own book, or article, or advice column. You asked her for a typewriter. It was red, blue and yellow. You couldn’t use it because it was too loud, or you would run out of ink. Then she would need to use it in the middle of whatever you were doing. “But it’s mine.”

You started noticing she was using you as an excuse to have these things and made you believe it was what you wanted, or for you, so she could have a distraction. Where was your distraction?… Brick wall.

~ Lonely you

805

Dear Younger Self,

Your anxiety must be high, have a seat.

You started gaining weight in 2nd grade. Dad was mad at you for not wearing a bra. You had weak ankles, no surprise there. They didn’t let you play much.

In kindergarten, I think you got boxing gloves and an accordion. But you weren’t allowed to use them. You had a lot of Barbie’s though. And little clothes. Mom started looking at shows and magazines for ideas to make her own things and said the projects were for you two, but really, she just needed your help most of the time. She would do the hard work and let you decorate sometimes. I think she forced herself to believe she didn’t need new things because dad wouldn’t allow her.

They made you shower with them. Naked. They had to stop because you got a little too curious and poked dad’s “thing” and you tried to see mom’s “mechanics.” “Why did you poke him? You’re gross,” mom said. You also caught them being intimate, several times. You would cry and run to the room. After they would finish, mom would come in and ask “why are you crying?” Brickwall.

Eventually you had to give up your room to your uncles until they moved down the hall. Dad would bring things from work. He brought like eight, 8ft plastic mirrors that mom had to cut, to make them fit. She put five in the living room and three in their room. It was creepy to you. And you were scared of the dark. You were a crazy sleeper too. One day you rolled over in-between the bed and mirrors. Mom and dad were being intimate. You were stuck and crying for several minutes until they finished. They were mad at you saying you were exaggerating. But the image of your mom on top before you fell is all you could remember. Then being stuck there because you werent important enough for them to stop…That molded some of your desires and fears. Fears of mirrors. Brick wall.

Mom always had you watch Novelas, which is probably why you had this unrealistic idea of love.  Fairytale like.  You crush that stupid idea at 27 when SS leaves you. So you lose all hope and “bedrot” for about 2 years. Sorry, I know that sucks. But you couldn’t talk to mom.

Mom always talked to you about how you shouldn’t find someone like your dad. But she wouldn’t leave him. No matter how much you begged. She always stayed. At one point, she was ready to leave. She was ready. I’m not sure what changed. She blames it on you. I’ll explain later.

You were mom’s confidant. You tried to be helpful  and tried to be a girl, but she wouldn’t let you. Sometimes you had to go with her to work at Wendy’s. You loved eating there. Talking to people, just seeing new faces. You tried almost everything on the menu.

In California, mom worked at Taco Bell and dad at Burger King. Mom always brought you food. It wasn’t until your favorite uncle bought you guys Burger King breakfast sandwiches. You fell in love with them. It’s still your favorite to this day.

Mom and dad tried to cook together or have you help but he always yelled at you even though you don’t know anything and they expect you to know, because in our home countries, girls are already cooking and cleaning by 9 years old. That’s probably why you don’t like anyone being in the kitchen.

Dad always complained that she didn’t know how to cook or that her food was too bland or too salty. Always said there was no flavor. So, she got a recipe book. Some of the ones they chose were nasty. You started by learning fractions and directions. Mom would put the things in the oven for you. Dad always liked your food. Mom always said, “How is it possible if she doesn’t know anything?” Later on, you stop cooking for them because she always throws your food away. 

When mom wasn’t looking, dad was a real bully to you. He’d trip you and kick you, then call you stupid for falling. He’d pull your hair or tickle you until you told him you might pee yourself. Dad would want you to light the candles, and because you were scared, he’d hold your hand over the fire to show you, “See? Nothing happens.” That molds you too. You become extremely scared of heat or fire. You didn’t try cooking for many years because of that. Brick wall.

~ Unraveling you