Grease

Hello, T.

I've wanted to say something to you for a long time. It's been fourteen years since you said what you did, and your words still gut me. We're adults, we haven't spoken in years and our lives have gone down different paths. We don't even live in the same state anymore. You probably have no idea, and how could you? These insignificant words you said, how can they have so much meaning? I wanted you to know they did, and they still do. I wanted you to know that I hate you. I've resented you and everything you said you stood for. I abhor the persona you show everyone else. I hate the others too, but not as much as you. Let's talk about why.

I didn't have the best life growing up. My mom was severely mentally abusive. It was hell. Every second of every day I wished that something would take me from that house. I thought about suicide but I was too scared to do it. I held my back against the door as my family laughed on the other side and tried to break their way in. My younger sisters were allowed to punch me in the stomach and I wasn't allowed to even defend myself. The one time I tried to push one away I was threatened. I was in high school and one of my sisters was around 7 at the time. It's not that it hurt too bad, it was just the fact of being hit over and over and not being able to stop it, to put my hands up, to have anyone tell her it was wrong.

My sister was abused too though. We were constantly both told we were killing our youngest sister, who was sick. If we had dirty rooms, we were the reason she way dying. Imagine your mom telling you that. Imagine that burden being placed on you.

Imagine being a child and knowing no one loved you. My dad left when I was two months old. I have siblings all over Florida that I'll never meet because he did the same to other women. Mom resented me for being his daughter, and she told me many times that I took her twenties from her. She referred to me by my last name. Every time I did anything wrong. "You're just a Smith and that's all you'll ever be."

We were not rich, but I wouldn't say we grew up impoverished. She used that as justification for her actions. We had material things, so our life must not have been that bad. It didn't matter that we didn't get hugged. It didn't matter that nobody expressed parental love for us. It didn't matter that we were scared to bring home a B because we so desperately wanted to be perfect for her. We were never good enough.

It got really bad my junior year of high school. My sister that was seven years younger than me had gone to live with her father. I didn't have one to leave to, so I had to stay. Our youngest sister got really sick and had breathing trouble. Naturally (and rightfully) she was the most cared for, and I was happy she didn't have it like we did. I was happy she had care and attention placed on her because she was just a kid and she didn't deserve to be ill.

But that didn't change things between me and Mom. She was truly evil for a long time. I started working as soon as I turned sixteen to get out of the house for as long as possible. I think Mom was sick. I don't think she even remembers what happened back then, but my sisters and I do. In fact, my youngest sister has since gotten better and moved out on her 18th birthday.

But back to Junior year. The abuse was so harsh I wanted to call CPS or tell a counselor because I was scared for my mental health. I just didn't have the courage to do it. I was terrified they would not believe me and would leave me with my mom after she found out I had called, so I didn't. I had to think of another way. I needed a way where they would notice before I had to tell them. It doesn't make much sense now, but in my head at the time it did.

I decided to stop caring as much about my hygiene as I should. Surely someone would see. Someone would notice and they'd ask me and try to help. Especially with all of my "Christian" friends.

You and I worked together. We weren't close but we were friendly with each other. You were one of the proud Christians at our school, and you had a personality to match. You wanted everyone to know how Christian you were compared to others, and that's fine.

Skip forward to six months later, the summer after my Junior year. My cries for help hadn't worked. Nobody noticed, nobody cared. So I went back to showering regularly and praying I would get out of that house.

You approached me at work one day, and I'll never forget what you said. "Last school year we thought you were so weird. You would come to school with your hair all greasy and gross. Then a few days later we'd look and it would be all shiny again. We thought it was funny."

My heart sunk into my stomach. You had noticed what was happening. Not just you, but my so-called friends as well. You and your so-very-Christian posse had seen that something was not right, and instead of checking on me, you used it as gossip.

Meanwhile I lost friends because they saw how my mom was and they never spoke to me again. Meanwhile I continued to face the abuse. Meanwhile allowed yourself to live guilt-free, seeing an obvious sign that something was wrong.

I will never forgive you. I wish I was one of those people who could say they forgive and forget, but I can't. You'll probably never read this, and you'll probably never know, but I hope you're not that person anymore. I hope if you see someone crying for help, you help them. I hope that entire group of people who chose to laugh and poke fun at my pain have changed too.

You had SO much power in that moment. I could have had someone to talk to. I could have gotten out of that house. I could have told you what I was always too afraid to say on my own. Instead, I lost all faith in other people.

I still hold so much hatred and rage that I was so close to finding help. I wonder how many people noticed and chose not to say anything. How many people chose judgment instead?

It feels incredibly relieving to write this all down. As much as it still hurts, this has helped me realize you are not who you said you were. Most people are not who they say they are. And in the miniscule chance that you read this, I hope you're a changed man.