Before

Hey mom I never told you this, but that’s because I know it’s something any mother would dread to hear. The truth is, you made me from scratch, from the moment I was born it was obvious I was your child, I had your glistening green eyes and hopeful smile. As a baby my fingers, so tiny and delicate, would cling onto you because I knew you could keep me safe and protect me from the corrupt mess the world had become. You would hold me tight and sing me songs as I would fall asleep then you would watch me feeling accomplishment for making a child who was so beautiful and wonderful.

As time went on you told me you had a secret, my 4-year-old eyes looked at you as though you had every answer in the world. You told me I was getting a sister. A little sister. I felt older and as though I had a responsibility to look after her like you did me. But as the time moved closer to the day of her arrival you told me news that I knew had broken something inside you. My little sister would be different,12 disabilities. As a 4-year-old those two words didn’t mean a thing to me, I didn’t understand them. But I did understand they hurt you .So I vowed to you to help in any way I could. Four-year-old me didn’t understand the task I was taking on.

When she was born, wrapped in all those tubes I noticed she had your eyes and smile too. Only her green eyes shone brighter than mine and her smile had way more hope than mine could ever hold. You were busy when she was first born, too busy to notice me. I had just started school at the time, so I didn’t care that you weren’t paying attention to me because if I’m honest I wasn’t paying attention to you either. I was too busy making new friends.

At age 10 I had become accustomed to this new normal. Wake up at half 6, get changed, go wake up my little sister, get her changed, lay out breakfast for everyone, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, leave for school. That’s what happened most days. But some days I would wake up at half 5 to the sound of an ambulance coming to take my sister to the hospital. Seizure number 657. From ages 4 to 9 school was my escape I could just be normal without any extra responsibilities. But at age 10 school had become a dark depressing place. My friends who I knew since 4 decided that they didn’t like me anymore. They told me I was ugly and selfish and stupid. I felt worthless, mom. But I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put anything else on your plate.

By age 11 I was at a new school with new people. But somehow, they still had the same opinion about me. Only now they had added new words to their vocabulary of bullying: fat, fugly, waste of space. These words broke me, and the worst thing is I believed everything that they were saying, I still do. I would go to school and be bashed by my peers and come home to having to help you, which honestly exhausted me. By this point you noticed I was failing all my classes, you were angry because you didn’t understand how your wonderful, beautiful ,smart girl could be anything but a wonderful ,beautiful ,smart girl. I felt like I was a disappointment to you.

And now at the age of 16 those glistening green eyes have dulled into to tired depressed eyes. And that smile that seemed infinite has faded into a shallow frown. I look in the mirror, but I don’t see the wonderful, beautiful girl you see. The truth I never told you was that I see a depressed, anxious, tiered girl who honestly wants to time travel back and become 4 all over again. Back when I felt loved by all and back when I didn’t notice any imperfections about myself. Back before I became a disappointment to you.