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a story nobody cared for- a long, unappealing, fruitless drabble
2 years ago · 2 · parental abuse, +6
478
i was born november 19th in boston to japanese immigrants.
my father was quite sociable, and very popular around our city although it was by no means small. on the outside he was perfect and lovable so everyone loved him. i was amongst these people growing up, however, we were never close because my father was hardly home. the only occasions i spent with him were trips to the park, fair, movies, thinking that money would buy my love in the absence of his parenthood.
my mother could not speak english well and rarely left the house unless she was doing chores in the yard or taking me to a school event when my father failed to.
because my mother was always there, i loved her more than anyone, and when she took out her hatred for my father on me through beating, yelling, and once stabbing me in the arm with a kitchen knife, i thought i needed to be better.
my family situation was horrendous. i was the beautiful golden child, and my siblings were the problem twins. they would never be as good as me, and to this day, they still never will. although i was the oldest, their was another child before me; a miscarriage. i learned about them when i was 10. my sister and i used to see a ghost by the dresser every night. they never did any harm, like a silent guardian. i decided this must me my lost older sibling. when we moved from big-city lynn to the suburbs, i lost everything, including my guardian ghost.
i lost all my friends, my home, my will to live. my first year there, i struggled with severe depression, and the one time i opened up, nobody believed me. today, three suicide attempts and self-harm scars mark my arms. still nobody believes. i am left wasted and ugly.
i am probably the reason why i'm like this.
after moving from lynn to the suburbs when i was 10, i blamed my inability to make friends on everything but myself. i thought, "it's 5th grade, everyone has friends already, nobody wants to be friends with the new girl." but that was not true. there were 2 other new girls that year, and they all adjusted fine. they became popular and had many friends. so i found something else to push the blame on. i was the only asian in my grade besides one chinese girl. so i thought that was it.
in 5th grade, i was quiet and did not make the first move, ever. when someone asked me if i wanted to play with them at recess or sit with their friends at lunch, i got attached very quickly.
in 6th grade, i ate lunch with the other asian girl, who i'll call diana, and her quiet friends. diana was like me in the sense that she was very quiet. she respected her parents, was a rule-abider, got good grades, and was proud of her culture. however, our friendship was very short lived, because two quiet girls with no shared interests or history really have nothing in common.
around this time, i got a cat who i loved dearly. i'll call him morgan. he was absolutely perfect in every way. black and white, a bit chubby, very cute, very lazy, but very, very aggressive and territorial because my family never neutered him. they did not take good care of my baby, my darling son. morgan lived in the basement when he was a baby, but i begged my parents to let him live in the house, because the basement was undeveloped and disgusting to the point where oversized rats and fungi called it home. but even though he lived inside now, terrible things still happened to my baby. my parents hardly took him to the vet, bought any random food brand, and let him go outside, where he gathered fleas, ticks, and battle scars.
one day, after he came home from being outside for 4 days, my father said to me, "just so we're on the same page, if he goes outside, he's never coming back." i asked him why. he said he would take morgan away from me forever. at this point, morgan was the most amazing thing to ever happen to me. he was special. he was the leftovers of a batch of kittens that nobody wanted. he was handed to my dad in a tiny box in the parking lot of a bj's. he had the same birthday as me. he couldn't stand being around me, but i loved him. if anyone were to take him away from me, i would simply die. but the inevitable happened anyway. what was i to do.
at age 12, killing myself was the main thing on my mind. i was still quiet, shy, lonely. it was killing me. i went to school and had to hold back my tears because nobody was excited to see me, or considered me a friend. if school was bad, i couldn't fathom going home either, because my mother, who i clung to with the vehemence of a leech, would yell at me and hit me, then my siblings, who i had grown to hate, because they were untalented and useless, and they spoke their minds, and my parents did not discipline them nearly as hard as they did me, and i wanted to see them die. i wanted to die. i told myself, one day, by age 13, i would run away onto the streets, away from school, away from home, join a gang, or a brothel, stay alive somehow, and become a millionaire to spite my parents.
today, at age 23, this never happened. i moved out at 19 and lived with my friend annie, who was not really a friend at all, and kicked me out shortly after. i convinced my parents to pay for college. they did, surprisingly. i went to college in dartmouth for law but never finished, and instead got a job as a babysitter, then a spanish-english translator, then a freelance animator. i wanted to be an author when i was younger. i showed an acquaintance, who was an editor, one of my works at a cafe once, and i still remember what he said to me. after cringing through the entire rest of the draft, he said, "kiko, give up. there's nothing to be salvaged here. don't fool yourself."
and maybe he was right. maybe there is nothing left to be salvaged here at all
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ReplyThank you for this interesting post. I was transfixed by it. I think that you could be an author.
Reply