I wish you had noticed

When I was young, I used to write letters to you, cursing you for being the way you are with me, writing the words I hate you over and over again on tear-stained pages. I would leave those pages lying around, hoping you would find them and weep. But every time, I never let them lie around for long. I didn't want you to see how much those words really affected me. I used to stare at the wall behind you, Begging myself not to cry not to be weak. I would tell myself that this wasn't new and that I was used to it. It didn't bother me as much as it once did. I would repeat this as a mantra, a chant, hoping that if I said it enough times, it would come true. It never did. I'd remember every time you told me I was difficult, that I had the tongue of a viper, that I made you wonder why God hated you so much to give you a daughter like me.

In all the stories I read, it didn't matter how bad a person was; the mother always loved her child. So, why did mine not love me? Surely, there had to be something wrong with me. I remember starting to hate myself. I despised myself for being so different from you. I despised the fact that my skin was darker than yours, my voice was higher than yours, my hair was never as curly as yours, I was never as patient as you, I hated that no matter how hard I tried, I could never be like you. I hated that no matter how much I despised you, I could never be like you. I remember feeling a sense of anger towards myself, the feeling of wanting, no needing to do something.

I remember noticing the sharpener. I remember taking out the blade and holding it in the palm of my hand. I remember just staring at it, wondering if I was going to do it. But then I remembered the tears in your eyes as you told me that I would be much happier if you'd just die. I remember the nausea, the sensation of my heart trying to cave in on itself and I picked up that tiny blade and dragged it across my left arm. I remember the pain and I remember the sense of relief that followed. I thought it was a one-time thing. I wasn't the type of girl who did that sort of thing. Little did I know that I had signed away the next six years of my life to that little blade.

I wish you had looked at me then and somehow known that I needed you. That I needed you more in those years than I would in my entire life. I only needed you to tell me that you loved me and that you could never hate me. I needed you to tell me that I was not a bad person and that I had good in me. I would have stopped. I would have never looked at a blade like it was my penance ever again.

All I ever wanted was for you to wake up one day and realize that I was just like you and that you actually loved me. I dreamt that you would pull me into your arms, kiss me on my forehead, and when I pretended to be embarrassed and attempted to pull away, you would hold on tighter as if it pained you to be away from me. I would imagine you looking down on me fondly and saying, "Meiri jan ho tum."

But you never seemed to notice me.