I Do Not Care If You Hate Me

The brightness of the sun was nowhere to be seen as tears continued to stream down from my eyes and onto my shirt. I tried to believe that I was going to be okay — but all I could feel in the sadness of that moment was my overwhelming want to slip silently away, to no longer exist.

I wiped my tears and looked at the screen of my phone, holding it tightly in my grip, as I quietly read the new words of the constant hate filled comments left for me to see inside the social media app I wouldn’t have dare deleted.

I must have invisibly sat inside the isolation of my car, surrounded by the joy of other people in the parking lot of a store on that Christmas eve night not being able to feel the joy of what Christmas is supposed to bring, for what felt like an eternity of hell that I would never be able to escape.

Defending myself from the sadness of the heinous and malicious comments left for me to see by people wanting nothing more than to see me break was something I had to keep doing. My want to constantly prove that I was not the hateful words inside the comments left for me to see became the very thing fueling their insidious words always leading to my want to no longer be alive.

Inside the reality of the people making those comments would also hold the value of who they were inside of my mind; always telling me that I must have been nothing more than the horrible things of what they alleged I already was.

I wanted so badly for those people to accept me, to be kind to me, to see that I was not what they perceived of me, but the more I tried the more insidious their words of me became.

Many of these people being mental health professionals, healthcare workers, people that I knew, people with disabilities, and mothers of children having the same disabilities as my own children.

Their words tore me apart. Their words never stopped no matter how often I begged. Their words remained an echo always in my thoughts like a song stuck on repeat only going to max volume every time I attempted to turn it off.

I do not know what gave me the courage to decide to keep living that night instead of following through with the plan I silently made to give them exactly what they wanted inside their want for me to no longer exist, but I will always be so proud of myself for making the decision to stay another day.

I sat outside of my home that night wanting to feel the cold dark air as I tapped delete on every social media app residing on my phone with no intention to ever log back in.

Being able to stay off of social media for three months in that time saved my life; it is one of the defining reasons that I am the happy person I am today with an identity of my own so strong that the words of no one could make me believe that I am not worth all of the happiness that life has to bring.

The silence of the isolation I willfully created for myself forced me to sit alone with my thoughts. Having no way to escape them, I was finally able to process them, to understand them.

I was able to learn that the driving force inside everything I had ever done was simply fear.

I was afraid of everything. I was afraid to live. I was afraid to be silent. I was afraid to allow myself to feel peace. I was afraid of the unknown.

Fear was all I knew — it held the key to who I was of who I could become. My fear constantly dangled the key in front of me as it told me to keep being afraid of all that would happen if I stopped fighting the battles of every one I loved dearly.

At some point my fear became so great inside of my mind that it would lead me to talk about my thoughts and decisions coated inside of the fear I unknowingly held inside of myself — constantly driving everything I did.

As more and more people silently watched through the lens of my posts on social media; I would continue to publicly fall apart inside the grips of the fear I never knew I had.

The thoughts of the people watching from afar would later become the hate filled words I would read giving me the ability to finally allow fear to show itself to me.

Fear would always sit next to me on the nights I felt alone; always reminding me that it was there all along, revealing itself as the voice inside my head driving every decision I once made.

On a singular day, at a singular time, with no invitation to be had, fear would come rushing into me, overtaking all that I once was.

“What if he dies. What if I have to bury my baby?”

That thought never left my mind. It always remained the driving force behind every move I made. From the moment it entered my mind it always made sure to keep me awake in the silence of the dark as it laid beside me whispering that thought in my ear, always keeping me trapped inside my home as it told me it was the only place we were safe.

My child survived the dark sadness of laryngomalacia stealing his breath from him at every avenue.

My child survived the adhesions in his stomach strangling his intestines trying to end his life.

But, the lasting memories my mind held of my children suffering inside of them, almost killed me.

The moment I heard the gulping sound of the stridor inside the dark depression of laryngomalacia come from the throat of my next baby — fear became the narrator to the nightmare I was now forced to relieve as I begged for it to stop.

There would never be a moment of silence inside the misery of the hell I was in that I could escape from after hearing the soul crushing sound of the same air way defect that once tried to steal my toddler inside the baby I just birthed now fighting to breathe.

“Fight, do not stop fighting, do not look away, do not sleep. If you see him on a ventilator to, you will not survive it, you will have failed him, just like you failed his brother.”

Those thoughts circled in my head always repeating. Inside every minute of the frustration that I felt I heard those thoughts. Inside every hospital room I held my children in those thoughts were with me. At every doctors office visit those thoughts always accompanied me.

I never stopped hearing the thoughts of fear telling me I had to keep fighting or I was going to see my child on a ventilator again. That thought would always lead to the thought of my true fear of having to bury my child because I did not find them in time, that it was all my fault.

As my fear became all that was left of me I became desperate to find relatability and acceptance from anyone; leading me to start sharing my reality in the realms of social media.

What I once thought was the acceptance I so desperately wanted from people I could relate too would later turn into the rejection inside of their eyes leading them into the hate filled words they would leave for me to read.

Fear became all that was left of me, taking over the identity I once confidently held, leaving me stuck to do nothing but shout into a void for someone to make it all stop…

None of the people inside of that social media app known for mental health or health care based content cared about my mental health enough to see that I was reacting from my unknown trauma caused from seeing my child almost die; as they became the people casting hateful words in their hopes to break me even more.

None the people inside of that social media app known for being advocates of chronic illness and disabilities cared about disabilities or chronic illness enough to see that I was suffering from undiagnosed PTSD as they became the people casting their hateful words in hopes to tear me down even more.

None of people inside the dysfunction of my family along with the people close to me cared about my well being enough to see that I was falling apart inside the effects of untreated ptsd as they made anonymous accounts to write their hate filled words in hopes of shattering anything left of me.

None of the nurses or doctors inside the hospital that treated my child ever saw that I was suffering from the effects of untreated post traumatic stress disorder.

I would not find out how increasingly common it is for both doctors and nurses inside the hospitals meant to care for children to mistake parents plagued with the trauma of seeing their children suffer and almost lose their life as aggressive, over dramatic and non compliant until I was able to find enough worth in myself to know that something was wrong with me and seek treatment on my own.

Two years ago now, I sat in a chair across from my doctor and quietly said the words, “I am afraid, I am always afraid, I can not sleep, I can not do anything other than watch my children’s every move. I am afraid every second of every day that if I look away I am going to miss something and it is going to lead to me having to bury my child. It feels like everyone hates me. I am afraid to exist.”

I will never be certain of what gave me the courage to say those words out loud to a healthcare professional in a system I had lost all trust for and become increasingly fearful of; but the response of my doctor would be the very thing that has continued to give me the courage to always keep going in the moments I have wanted to so badly give up.

“You were never meant to see your children struggle to survive. Your brain will never be able to comprehend or rationalize what you helplessly watched your children go through. You did what you had to do to survive the worst thing imaginable, and you survived it. You have to forgive yourself. You have to give yourself grace, you have too. You are worth that.”

Over the past two years I have made good posts on social media, bad posts on social media, had more breakdowns on social media, gotten back off of social media, and silently lurked on social media; but I have never again allowed the words of another person to effect me so greatly that I did not want to exist in this world anymore.

Over the past two years I have been able to say goodbye to so many of my fears allowing me to live authentically while finding laughter and joy. I have become the person I needed so badly on that Christmas eve night; full of love and worth for myself.

For too long I silently carried my hurt inside the words I read from the people on that social media app.

For too long I silently carried my hurt inside the horrible words from medical professionals inside the hospital meant to help my child.

My silence of those people came from my struggles with fear constantly trying to tell me that they are right and that I am going to always be a broken person.

I am not broken. I am not their words.

Hurt people, hurt people.

Those people must be hurting so terribly bad on the inside for them to have said the things they said to hurt me.

Those people must have so much anger stuck inside them with no escape; for them to have found so much happiness every time they silently watched as I continued to publicly fall apart from their words.

Today, I am able to feel so much compassion and heartbreak for those people knowing they are stuck inside a miserable hell of hurt and sadness that they cannot find their way out of.

My empathy for them gives me the ability to no longer care if they hate me. Their words never again holding value inside of my thoughts — as I know their words are nothing more than a reflection of the pain they must silently face everyday.

I know that I am a good mother. I know that I am a good person.

My identity is now rooted in love and happiness; no longer controlled by the fear of life, the unknown, and other people’s opinion of me.

I survived the dark sadness of what almost left me nothing more than a sunset on a cold night.

I have so much love for myself. I have so much worth for myself. I find validation from within myself.

I do not care if someone spends the rest of their life hating my very existence.

That person will live with a lifetime of anger to sit with them in the darkness of their hate for me.

I will always hope that one day they can find their own peace, but I will never acknowledge their hate.

I will never give them a single day of attention, and I will never again defend myself against the words of a person I know to be untrue.

I do not care if they hate me.

I do not care if you hate me.

I love myself.