"Not until I'm finished."

My pregnancy was not easy, and afterwards we followed the doctor's orders to abstain from sex for six weeks after I delivered. We waited like eager teenagers, and once I was cleared by the doctor, we could hardly wait to get our hands on each other. 

The sex was painful. I tried to get through it, but couldn't, and finally I had to call it quits. "Stop," I said.  

"Not until I'm finished."

I hear it every time now, in the back of my mind. A growl of need I couldn't meet, but had to anyway. 

"Not until I'm finished."

"What the HELL did you do to your hair?!?!"

I got married really young, and it took me six years after our divorce to realize that it was an abusive relationship. 

One of the first hints was when I went to visit a loved one in Alabama without my husband. During the trip, I got my hair cut from shoulder-length to pageboy cut, and I absolutely adored it. I thought I was beautiful for the first time since my son was born.

I was gone for a full 10 days, and as I got off the Greyhound I heard my husband call to me. He didn't say, "Hi." He didn't say, "We missed you." He didn't say, "Welcome home."

All he said to me was, "What the HELL did you do to your hair?!?!"

The whole ride home he went on and on about how I shouldn't have cut my hair, how I didn't even talk to him about it first, how awful I looked with short hair, and how it made me look slutty. 
 

"Why did you let yourself be alone with him?!"

When I finally got up the courage to confess to my mother that my former stepbrother (from her second marriage) had molested me, she looked me dead in the face and asked, "Why did you let yourself be alone with him?!" 

I cannot forgive her. I've tried, but I just can't. I hate her. I hate everything about her. 

When she met my one-year-old son for the first time and he cried every time she tried to hold him, I couldn't help but smile. 

"I told you that I would be the pretty one."

My cousin and I were inseparable our whole lives. She was always beautifully curvaceous, and I was always stick thin. Her dad use to fat shame her, telling her that she had to look like me to ever be loved. 

Fast forward to this year when I was pregnant (but hadn't told anyone yet) and she was starving herself for her new beau. She called me and said, "I told you that one day you would be the fat one and I would be the pretty, skinny one." 

She even encouraged her boyfriend to make fun of my weight.

"Your hair doesn't look THAT bad today."

Growing up, I was picked on constantly, but most of the kids who bullied me eventually stopped by middle/high school. Except for one girl in particular. She was the band director's stepdaughter, basically making it impossible for me to do anything about it. 

I'll never forget the day when we got our pictures taken in our marching band uniforms. I had just gotten my hair cut and highlighted the day before, and thought I looked really pretty. 

She walked up to me and said, "Oh, your hair doesn't look THAT bad today." 

I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.
 

"No one would care if you died."

I remember so clearly the day my brother went with me to the bus stop, five years ago. He had been upset that morning, and he took it out on me. We got into a fist fight, and when I finally hit back, he lost it. 

He told me to put a plastic bag on my head and go play in the street. He said, "No one would care if you died. They'd be better off without you." 

The events of that one morning led to my years of depression and anxiety. And finally my suicide attempt. 

To this day, when I get sad, I remember what he said. That everyone is better off without me.
 

Too Weird For Marriage

Growing up, people told me that I was too weird to ever find a guy who would marry me. I was told that I'd have to find a guy who could "tolerate" me, and that I would have to be the one to propose. 

My art teacher in high school told me that the man I'd wind up marrying would probably be a serial killer.
 

"I'd throw a party the next day."

Last year a guy from school told me to hang myself. I asked him if he'd feel bad if I actually did it, and he said, "No. I'd throw a party the next day."

I told him that if I had been depressed that day and if I were a different person, it would have happened. He said, "It would have been worth it."

People need to be careful about what they say. 
 

"You're not depressed."

One night last year, after I had been self harming for months, I came out of the shower to find my mum staring at my arms and legs. 

She hit me and shouted, "You're not depressed. You're an attention seeking wee bitch." 

That hurt so much, because I really needed professional help at that point in my life. 

"It's not your fault."

It was a few days after my 16th birthday, and I had some birthday money. My mom took me to the mall to get some clothes that I needed, and we stopped at a makeup store to get my acne face wash. After seeing how much it was, I decided that I wasn't in dire need, and that I didn't want to spend the remainder of my money on it.

My mom has had an ongoing addiction to narcotics, and I considered this day to be one of her good days. But something in her changed when I said I didn't want to buy the face wash. She grabbed my hand and forced me out of the store, yelling at me and telling me how ungrateful I was. I told her I wasn't being ungrateful, and she hit me hard in front of everyone. I was left alone, a crumpled mess of embarrassment, while she stormed off.

She yelled that she was going to get the car, so I waited. It took her over a half an hour, so I thought she forgot about me. It turned out, she was so mad and messed up from the narcotics that she ran her car into someone else's car. When I got in the car, she told me that it was my fault that she was so mad and that she hit someone's car.

I called my dad, broken. I didn't know what to say. 

The one thing I will never forget is my dad telling me, "It's not your fault. It was never your fault." 

And to this day, I still believe him. It's never your fault.