"You could do so much better!"

I was sitting in my math class in front of my boyfriend when his friend asked if we were dating. 

My boyfriend said yes, and his friend told him, "You could do so much better!"

I was right there. 
 

"Fat girls don't get boyfriends."

When I was in middle school, my mom told me that I was "a fat girl" and that "fat girls don't have friends, and they certainly don't get boyfriends." 

Small 12 year old me truly took her words to heart and developed a severe case of anorexia due to what she said. I'm now 23, and I have been battling the eating disorder ever since. I also have an intense fear of gaining weight and suffer from extreme depression if I do gain any weight. 
 

"At least they don't beat us."

One day I was complaining to my mother about something that my husband did or didn't do. My mother replied, "We should both be thankful for the husbands we have. At least they don't beat us."

In that moment I realized that that was my mother's goal for me. That I would find a man who wouldn't beat me. It didn't matter if he made me happy, if he helped provide a stable life for our family, or if he helped me grow as a person. All that mattered was that he didn't beat me.

I will never forget the day when I was told that little gem. 
 

"I know you're just confused."

For a very long time, I identified as a lesbian. When I began dating my current boyfriend, however, I came out as bisexual to my closest friends and my family. 

My best friend told me, "I'll always think of you as a lesbian," and, "I know you're just confused. Don't worry; I know you're gay. You two will break up because you aren't straight." 

She also told me that if I wasn't a lesbian, she couldn't be my friend anymore. She told me I lied about my identity so I could "invade" LGBT spaces. 

It hurt hearing that from someone I was so close to. It's caused intense feelings of self doubt and self hatred. Even now, two years later, I think about what she said, and I suffer from some pretty intense internalized biphobia. She was my best friend; she knew me better than anyone. 

I still question my relationship and how I feel about my boyfriend of two years. I question whether or not the feelings I have for him are real. I will probably spend the rest of my life being afraid to openly admit I am a bisexual woman. I don't know where I belong. 
 

"You have the makings of a good person."

After I revealed to one of my closest friends that I have slept with over fifteen men since college, her 'helpful' response was, "You have the makings of a good person. Really, you do!"

In a friendship built on trust and sharing, this comment really struck me. I didn't see myself as a bad person then, nor do I now. 

But I struggle with the levels of judgement I now fear my trusted friends will inflict on me if I tell them the full truth of my life.

"No one will find that attractive."

My style has always been a bit alternative. Even after having my daughter at 18, I kept my look. Pink and black hair, a tattoo (planned to get more), piercings (also planning for more), the works. I had a dream of becoming an alternative model, which I thought was the epitome of beautiful. When I was 19, I had a set plan. I was going to polish myself up a bit and send in some shots. 

My husband at the time told me I was crazy, and that, "No one's going to want to look at your half naked, post baby body. No one will find that attractive. I find it attractive because I love you." 

That hurt me so bad, I cried myself to sleep that night. 

I eventually divorced that ass, and now, eight years later, I've never been happier.
 

Supporting Character

I started seeing a therapist about a year ago. One of the main issues we talked about was how I felt like the supporting character in everyone's life, and how I sacrifice my own needs to make others happy. 

At one point, she accidentally called me by the name of a friend of mine who we had been discussing. The therapist didn't catch her mistake, so I corrected her. Instead of apologizing for her own mindless slip and moving on, she said, "It's so interesting how you seem to be fading into the background in relationships and having your friends overpower you, even in our session."

It made me so angry that this therapist used her own absentminded word mixup as some sort of brilliant revelation of how I am inherently someone who is less important and prominent in relationships. I could tell that she was so pleased with herself for making this connection. 

Of course, knowing what you already know about me, it took me six months to finally stand up for myself and leave this therapist for good. 

"I need you to get away from me."

"You're a cynical, negative person. I love you, but I need you to get away from me."

Four years together. Done with the press of a button. 

I've never forgotten, or gotten over, those words. I never saw or heard from her after she spoke them. I guess I only have myself to blame, but I spend every waking moment just wishing she'd have been more patient, just wishing she could have seen me change. 

Her leaving put me in more of a sour mood since then. Just wishing I wouldn't have to get up every morning, or fall asleep at night, since all I ever did was stare up at the ceiling until I forgot what it ever was to smile at the sky. 

I loved her so much, I forgot what hating myself ever felt like. 

Now it's all I can remember.
 

"You're not the same."

My daughter was born premature. Extremely premature. She weighed 1lb, 3oz, and was not supposed to survive. On top of that, I almost didn't survive either. I was hospitalized for months, I had an emergency C section, and I faced losing my daughter every day after that for months until she was stable enough.

And I went through it all without a comforting hand beside me. 

Throughout it all, I was being abused by my (now ex) husband. 

One day, while waiting for our daughter to be released from surgery, I confronted him. Why was he so cruel to me? Why did I deserve the pain? 

He looked me in the eyes and told me this one thing: "You're not the girl I fell in love with. You're not the same. You were so sweet and happy. And now you're bitter and hateful. The world darkened you, and you're not the same." 

That was why I deserved his abuse, which was the very thing that made me bitter. 

That was why I deserved being left alone to go through this ordeal, which was the very thing that darkened me.

It's been five years, and I now have depression and anxiety. I have a hard time with my relationships. I never know if I can trust the man I'm with, for numerous reasons. 

I'm the girl who apologizes for existing. 

He was right. I'm not the same.

What Hurt the Most

I'm not mad. I won't be mad. I refuse to be. All the kisses are good memories, the presents, the loving smiles and lovey dovey talking. 

Now it's different. You lost your focus for me, and gained it for my best friend. That emotionally killed me. Me desire to go on was crushed, but I was determined to stay friend with you. 

Then you proceeded to tell me that life was hard for you because you had no chance with her. That hurt me the most.