See Me

All I want is to be seen as more than this. I spend days on end taking care of them. I look after their animals. I buy them food. I ensure they do their chores. I do my own. I get high marks. I overachieve. I fight the overwhelming urge to stab my pencil into my thigh. I go to work. I go above and beyond at my job, taking care of not only the children but my coworkers as well. I drive. I am self sufficient. My work is done on time. I can’t clean my room. I don’t have the time. I swallow back the loneliness. I come home. They cooked food they know I hate. It’s okay. I make my own. Or I go back out and buy something. Of course they get something too. Ten dollars into fifty in the blink of an eye.

I don’t move fast enough. I don’t drop everything. I talk back. I argue. I exist in a way they don’t want me to. I’m too skinny. I don’t eat enough. I eat too much. I don’t have friends. I’m ugly. I’m pretty. They love me. They hate me. I’m hurting. I’m fine. I leave in the morning for school. I’m always on time. Even to Study Hall. I go to work. I always come home. I ignore the urge to drive past the house. I don’t understand what they are telling me. I’m playing stupid. I’m too smart to not understand. I always have to understand.

I didn’t see what he saw. He pushed my face close to the animal vomit. He tries to apologize. He doesn’t. He yells when I tell him I don’t forgive. I tell him it’s not an apology. I am an ungrateful brat who does nothing. He hates me. His love is conditional. I am a cry baby. I can’t take a joke. I’m too sensitive. It’s my fault. I cry after he leaves.

She comes in. It didn’t happen the way I said. She says he doesn’t mean it. She says he’s kidding. She said it’s both our faults. I don’t do enough. I am not enough. I need to work harder. I’m coasting. She asks me if I’m coming to dinner. I refuse, twice. She leaves me worse than she found me.

They say they love me. They say they are proud of me. They say they want me to be independent. He called me a whore. He said it was a joke. He got mad when I cried. She called me a dumbass, or maybe she didn’t. She’s done and not done so many things. I don’t know what’s true. They hate me. They must hate me. They fight each other over me. I cry. It’s my fault.

I fight the voices whispering to me. The ones telling me to grab the dagger on my window frame and drag it across my thighs. The ones telling me to stop eating. The ones telling me to stop caring. They love me. They have to love. Why are they doing this? I contemplate driving off the road. I could never do that to them. They hurt me. I hurt.

I’ve been sick for days. I told them on day one. He told me I’m faking. She believed me. They told me my symptoms. It wasn’t how I felt. They kept insisting it was. They got mad when I tried to explain. If I had the strength to leave on day two I would have. They used to care. They don’t anymore. It’s my fault. I did something. I have to fix it. I can’t. I refuse to cave. They can be so mean. My nose is too big. My hair is too greasy. My room is too messy. I’m having a hard time in physics. I’m not trying. They promise I’m not trying. I’m a failure. I’m going to college.

I feel so lost. I want to cry. I have no more tears. I want them to see me. Not the girl they fantasized about. Me. See me. SEE ME. LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME MY NOSE IS TOO BIG. LOOK INTO MY EYES AND TELL ME I’M NOT TRYING. LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME I’M TOO SENSITIVE. LOOK AT MY TEAR STAINED CHEEKS AND SEE ME. SEE THE GIRL YOU RAISEd. THE ONE WHO DROPS EVERYTHING TO CARE FOR YOU, FOR HER SIBLINGS. lLOOK AT MY BONY WRISTS AND TELL ME I EAT TOO MUCH. LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME I’M AN ASSHOLE. THE ONE WHO LIVES FOR YOUR PRAISE. LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME I’M A LAZY ENTITLED BRAT.

Look at me. Listen to me. See me.