The Past I Lived With.

I had my first kiss stolen by friend, my mum’s best friend’s son, Dylan. It was an unpleasant surprise but then I grew to love him. Within the the few weeks after, I didn’t see him I love him. Then I met him. My dad’s garage.

‘hi’ I said.


‘how are you?’ I asked.


There was a silence, a long one. I didn’t know what to say and he didn’t as well. I wanted to tell him I love him too but I doubted myself and what that kiss meant. Did he really love me?

His mum called him and he walked past me then I heard the car drive away. He left me.


It was around 7 year old, I heard my¬† step-sister joking about how my mum thought I was so shy that I was autistic. I didn’t know what ‘autistic’ meant back then but I wasn’t stupid, he said it as a stigma.
It was around this time I had to wear glasses because of my worsening vision. It soon became my excuse to change, wear a mask and played a person whom everyone accepted.
I remember the day I changed. It was sudden and I hated myself because everyone accepted me as this other person. This stranger who was arrogant and always made an effort to make others laugh and always smiled.
I cried many days after. I heard my dad whisper to my mum, whilst wiping my tears, ‘what did this child know to cry to suffer in her sleep?’ he said it concernedly.


A pain manifested and grew. A thousand needles into a place where I thought my soul was. Everyday I felt the urge to cry. I could feel the myself being torn to shreds by the very thing I fought against myself to gain – acceptance.
My heart turned cold and I couldn’t smile anymore. I didn’t know how to. I did so every day but it was never real. It was real for everyone else but me. I felt that my mother and father abandoned me, so in a foreign language I shouted out to my ‘real’ mother and father where are you. Why isn’t anyone taking this pain away? Why won’t someone genuinely ask me ‘Are you okay?’. It is society’s fault that I can’t shout out the truth to the world for 11 years. I can’t tell everyone the truth because why would the anyone accept it and console me… no one has accepted me when I was truly me, so why should I kneel to the world and beg for mercy? Why should I have to relinquish my pride? Why should I do this when the world can change to suit my needs? I did the same for it so why not me? But obviously, that didn’t happen.
The world died little by little everyday that I lived. I, honestly, wanted to die. Actually, it is more accurate to say that I just wanted to be away from this world that never seemed to see the real me or accept me.


It was another day that I remember. I accidentally cut myself with a knife on my palm, when I was trying to cut an apple. My brother wouldn’t cut the apple, he said he was busy or something.
I gasped and my brother heard and ran to me in shock. He pried open my fingers and placed the apple and knife on the table. He was worried about me, went to grab bandages and antiseptic. While he was dressing my wound, I was shocked. He was kind to me because I was his sister not because I was it stranger who always laugh and smiled but because I was me.

That was the moment I remembered when I grabbed the very same knife in the kitchen and thought seriously about how should I kill myself. Thoughts like,’…but it will hurt’ and then a flash back of all the happiness I experienced, I came to a revelation that I should not be selfish. Mum would be sad. If I didn’t kill myself properly and lived to see them suffer then what? Then I came to the conclusion that the world did not do any wrong, it was me. All this time it was my fault, I was being stupid. I was given happiness when I was this other person so I should be grateful. I was wrong to cry about being this other person.


I confessed my love to whom I knew I would regret. He was a relative, younger by a year. I knew I was stupid but I wanted to give my love to somebody who mattered to me and give all this love that I couldn’t give to Dylan before. Now, I regret it everyday. It is not because he didn’t accept it. Even if he did accept me I would hate myself until my death. I know it was wrong, it breaks my heart everyday. I should not have and I want to die alone because of it. I want someone to tell me it is okay but I know it wasn’t.


Anyways, I can’t write anymore. I just had a talk with K.C. about this. My day is brighten by our heart-to-heart. So too happy to talk. I moved on and I just wanted to write all this down for memory’s sake… I guess.