"Ugh, too much makeup!"

When I was 16, I started experimenting with makeup. There was some family party I had to go to, and I spent a lot of time getting myself all dolled up for it. When I came downstairs to leave, my twin brother looked at me, made a disgusted face, and said, "Ugh, too much makeup!" Like I was personally offending him and hurting his eyes. 

I still went to the party looking as I did, but I felt really self conscious the whole time. 

And now, more than 20 years later, the entitlement and disgust he expressed in his reaction to my face still sticks with me.

"You lead older men on."

When I was 15, I was stalked, molested, and sexually assaulted by a 46 year old man who my parents were good friends with.

I tried to keep everything hush hush because it was humiliating, but my parents found out and confronted me about it. My father was sobbing and trying to understand what happened. My mother was furious and drilled me with questions. 

The whole scene ended with my dad and me sobbing together while my mom yelled, "I never thought my 15 year old daughter would be a whore. You lead older men on. On purpose!" 

To this day, I struggle to have a relationship with her. It is swept under the rug. We don't speak of it. 

I will always feel betrayed.

"You are not smart or pretty enough."

Growing up, my teachers were the root of my low self-esteem. I was dyslexic, and they would actually make fun of me in front of other students. 

I wanted to try out for a public speaking organization, but as soon as I stood up, one of my teachers told me, "You are not smart or pretty enough to compete in public speaking. You need to go back to your seat and sit quietly while the students who actually have a shot at winning try out. Try losing 10 pounds, learn how to do your makeup and get rid of that lisp then we can talk." 

Everyone laughed including the 2 other teachers in the room, while I was forced to sit in the back of class and wait until tryouts were over. 

When my mom asked how it went, I lied and told here it went well and that I might actually make it. I didn't want her to be sad. I was 11 years old.

"Your case isn't even that bad."

When I was about 14, my mom made me see a therapist, even though I never told her that I was depressed and haven't told her to this day. 

Based on the way my mom and step dad treated me, I learned from a young age not to trust adults. So I only gave the therapist limited information.

One day the therapist said to me, "Don't worry, your case isn't even that bad. I've seen so many kids who have way worse cases." 

In reality, I had a verbally and emotionally abusive home. I had depression from the huge expectations my parents had for no one but me, and I have a crippling fear of failure from the punishment I got for my best simply not being good enough. 

But yeah, my case "isn't even that bad." You're right. What was I thinking?

"He's such a nice boy."

When I told my favorite teacher that another student in our class had raped me, her response was, and I quote, "Oh, Jason*? That doesn't seem like something he would do. He's such a nice boy." 

*Names have been changed.
 

"He's going to hell. Get over it."

My father was absent basically my whole life, but at the beginning of 2015, we started going to counseling, in an attempt to work on our relationship. 

On May 28th of that year, my 15-year-old brother and best friend was accidentally struck and killed by a train. 

My mother called my father to tell him that I wouldn't be able to go to counseling the next day, since I hadn't slept all night while I waited for the coroner to confirm that the body was in fact my brother's.

After my mom yelled at my father for fifteen minutes, she handed me the phone. The only words that slipped out of his mouth were, "He committed suicide. It's his fault. He's going to hell, so just get over it."

That was the last time I really talked to my father. 

It'll be two years in May, and those words have always been and always will be echoing in the back of my brain. I know that my brother didn't die by suicide. But I can still hear those words. "He's going to hell. Get over it." 
 

"You made it."

After graduating from high school at 18, I fell into a life of drugs and alcohol. I wanted to get clean, so I went to my grandmother's house. Our relationship wasn't great, but she had offered me a place to stay if I was ever in need. Strung out on meth and cocaine, I called her numerous times on the way to her house, but she didn't answer. Once I arrived at her house, she didn't answer the door. The police showed up and told me to get off the property. 

That night I slept at the bus stop around the corner from her house. I slept in the snow. 

The next morning I called my uncle who lived in another state, begging for help. All he did was give me my father's phone number. My only memory of my father was him locking me in the closet while he beat my mother. When I got ahold of him, he said, "Don't you get the point? I didn't want you then, and I don't want you now." 

I went back to my mother's house, who started crying when she saw what I had become. She helped me get off the drugs and back on my feet. 

I am now 20 years old and two years clean. I have two jobs and am in college online. I've met an amazing guy who has a similar history and is three years clean. My mom and I have an amazing relationship.

What stuck with me wasn't all the horrible things that were said to me over the years. It's what my boyfriend and mom tell me every day. 

"You're beautiful and amazing." 

"Thank you for being sober." 

"You made it." 

No matter how much my family screwed me over, I made it! 
 

"I hope you have a heart attack!"

When I was 13, I stole some Halloween candy from the bowl before trick-or-treaters showed up, even though my mom told me not to. She found out and became very angry and told me I'd get diabetes.

She sent me to my room, and as I was walking up the stairs, she yelled, "I hope you have a heart attack! And you can sit in your room and rot."

I've never forgotten that.

"Don't let it get to you."

When I was in middle school, I was the awkward kid who was constantly picked on for things like my name and how I dressed. One day on my walk to class (which always felt like a battlefield because people shot me with teasing words) a group of girls started laughing at me and commenting on my shoes.

Later on in class, one of the most popular guys in school came up to me and said, "You know they're jealous of you because you are ten times prettier than they are." 

At that point I thought I was hallucinating. I couldn't believe that someone like him would even talk to me, let alone compliment me. 

He continued, "Don't let it get to you. One day they'll be begging you to be their friend."

His words honestly changed my entire perspective on myself and the reason I was always called out. 
 

"I wish you had been more observant..."

When I was thirteen, my friend sent me a text telling me that she loved me for everything I've ever done for her, then sent me a voice memo saying, "You were the best person I've ever met, but I wish you had been more observant and noticed my scars. I'm sorry about this, you treated me amazingly well." And then she committed suicide. 

I'm sixteen now, and I can't ever take those words out of my head when I see scars on someone else. To this day, I'm much more observant and open eyed to everyone.