"...when she doesn't get her way."

When I was 14 or 15, I tried to kill myself. 

I woke up in the bathroom of our trailer park, covered in blood, with a razor blade in my hand. I had shallow and deep cuts all over my arms and legs. I grabbed my cell phone from the bench next to me and called my mum, crying. She walked down from our trailer and flipped out when she found me. She called an ambulance and my dad. 

When the paramedics arrived, I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I remember being strapped to the gurney and loaded into the ambulance. I could hear my mum talking to one of the EMTs. When they asked her why I would do something like that, she said, "She does this when she doesn't get her way."

I have never forgotten that night and the betrayal that I felt.

"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. 
 

"Johnsons don't cry."

I grew up without much physical affection, so I was unusually attached to my first boyfriend. When I was 16 and we broke up, I couldn't accept the fact that this breakup would be our last of many. To me, the daily sex, hugs, and kisses were an addiction. I needed them to feel loved.

When I finally processed that this was final, I was sobbing in my room. My father - drunk, as was typical of him - might have thought he was comforting me when he saw me and said, "Forget him! Johnsons* don't cry."

After that moment, I was ashamed to cry. I was ashamed to show any emotion other than hostility. 

I'm 21 now. And I'm still not able to let myself cry. I fight the tears until I have mental breakdowns. My sadness now automatically converts to rage.

I have some joy and love, thanks to my fiancé, but I fear I'll never be normal again. I'll never be able to cry openly and easily.

Because Johnsons don't cry.

*Names have been changed. 
 

"You need this."

Growing up, I was never really big, but compared to my 5'4 120 pound mother, I was enormous. 

For Christmas in 5th grade, I received a beautiful box wrapped in red paper from my parents. I excitedly opened it in front of my entire family. It was the Richard Simmons Deal-a-Meal diet program. I was absolutely humiliated. My mother's only explanation was, "You need this." 

I look back on my childhood and I can remember the comments from them about how big my arms were and how fat I looked in my clothes. I remember my mom saying once that she didn't understand why I was so fat because I didn't eat any more than she did. These things stuck with me. I don't think my parents intentionally tried to hurt me, but their words are burned into my soul. 

I'm now 33 years old with a 10 year old daughter of my own. I go out of my way to build up my daughter and to let her know that she is perfect just the way she is.

"I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore."

My parents both came from pretty rough backgrounds and were raised by Depression Era parents. They were both the oldest of large families, so they had a lot of responsibilities. 

When I was 11, my mom said to me, "I raised my own siblings, and then your brother. I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore." 

My parents still don't understand why I stopped telling them about awards nights and other school events, or why I dropped out of doing things. It was because I didn't think anyone cared. 

"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."

"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."

My mother said this to my sister and me at the ripe old ages of nine and ten, during a "heartfelt" conversation. Those words have stuck with me for over 30 years. 

From that moment on, I never believed it when anyone told me I was cute, pretty, beautiful or gorgeous. I believed that all those people were obviously lying, because my mother said differently. 

My mom apologizes to this day, and she insists that her words came out wrong. And I believe her, because she is often removing her foot from her mouth after unintentionally saying something harmful. I've tried to let it go, but those words are so deeply engrained in me that I fear they can't be erased. 

I've purposely tried to tell my children how handsome and beautiful they are, but I think that my negative outlook of myself has rubbed off on them. Neither one of them see their beauty. I HATE that.

"You really looked like whale before."

I have been overweight my whole life. In my early twenties, I lost 60 pounds and felt great. One day, my father, who is solely concerned with appearance, paid me what he thought was a compliment.

He said, "I'm so glad you lost that weight. You really looked like whale before."

Needless to say, when I gained the weight back, I was embarrassed and ashamed to see my father.

"Just a phase."

Sophomore year of high school, I was well into my depression and struggling to find a reason to keep going. The first person I confided in was my dad, and he assured me that he'd help me find a therapist. 

Fast forward to a few months later, and my mom and stepdad were the ones who were helping me to find the help I so desperately needed. 

My dad finally attended a session with me, and afterwards he admitted to me in the car that he thought that my depression was "just a phase," and that he had never actually looked for help for me. 

It's been nearly 6 years, and I still don't think he takes me seriously.
 

"Despite being fat, you dress very nicely."

I used to go to church with my grandma every week. One day when I was fourteen, I decided to dress up for church more than I normally did. I had recently gotten a new dress that I thought looked really nice, and I was excited to wear it. 

My grandmother's church friend came up to me and complimented my dress, which I was elated about. Then she said, "Despite being fat, you dress very nicely. I imagine it wouldn't be easy finding dresses in your size, so it's good you found one." 

She probably thought she was being nice and giving me a great compliment, but I was devastated. I ran into the bathroom and cried my eyes out. 

I had always been self conscious from bullies in school, but I think her comment was the worst.
 

"You're raising a pussy."

I went camping with my family a few years ago. My sister brought her new boyfriend, who kept picking on my four-year-old son. When my sister went for a walk with her boyfriend, my parents asked us what we all thought of him. I said that I didn't like him because he was mean to my kid. 

My father looked me square in the face and said, "Well that's not a reason to not like him! You can't protect your son all his life. You're raising a pussy." 

My son was FOUR! I will never forget that.