"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. 
 

"Get a life!"

In the past I've struggled a lot with anxiety, depression, PTSD, and bipolar. Lately I've been struggling with agoraphobia, or the fear of going outside. I've been indoors 90% of the time for a number of years, and I'm trying to work through it now.

I stopped going to public school sophomore year. I can't handle the environment, with timed expectations and feeling like people have their eyes on me when I mess up, so I take classes at home through the school. Every so often I have to go to the high school to do paperwork or something. My anxiety gets to me pretty often, but I try my hardest to relax and keep my head up. Keeping happy is my way of getting back at all the misfortune in my life, even if it's difficult. 

One day as I was getting ready to go to the high school to do some errands, I decided for the first time in forever that I wanted to dress up a little. Feeling confident makes it easier for me to go outside. It makes me feel like if people look at me, they won't judge what they see. 

As I was getting ready to cross the street to go home, someone sped by in a car and screamed at me, "GET A LIFE!" 

I stood and stared at the street for a moment. I felt like a paper thin glass bottle getting dropped on the ground. I wanted to sit down and cry, but I wanted even more desperately to just go back home and be inside. Indoors, nobody would call me names or tell me what to do with my life. 

I wanted to stop that car and shriek into his ears, "Do you know what you've just done to me? Do you know what I am going through? It took every single ounce of my energy to get out of bed today, and you have the audacity to tell me to get a life. I'm trying. I'm TRYING to get a life and I'm TRYING to maintain it. You don't know what it's like to get up with the intentions of going outside, look at the front door for fifteen minutes, undo the deadbolt, and then start crying and go back to bed because people like you make me wish I had never been born. I hope you're happy with yourself. I worked up every last bit of courage I had to walk out the front door today and you shattered it. You took it and threw it in a trash compactor." 

The three words he screamed at me made me feel empty and alone. It kept me wondering what I did wrong. What did I do to deserve that scream? What did I do to make you hate me? Just exist? 

Since then I've been working on going outside more. It isn't as scary now as it was then. I went out all on my own today and applied for a number of jobs. It feels good to smile and look people in the eyes, shake their hands and introduce myself. Even if I don't get the job(s), I'm happy with myself because I tried. 

I have a life. I'm doing all I can with it. With what I've been through in my life, trying and succeeding even at little tasks is more than just "enough." 

I'm excelling in places I never thought I would, and that is what makes me happy.

"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. 
 

"All the weight"

My mom was dating this guy a while back, and he brought us up north to meet his family. His dad was an awful person, to put it nicely. 

As my brother and in were waiting in the car to leave, he came over to say goodbye. He stood at my window, looked inside at me, and yelled to my mom's boyfriend, "No wonder you have a flat tire, all the weight's on this side of the car!" 

I was barely 13.
 

"Hey, so I'm sorry about the other night."

I can't remember anything about our night together. I just remember waking up in my dorm room, covered in bruises, my lamp on the floor with the shade crushed in, clothes scattered on my floor, and me, alone in my room, knowing that I had not been alone the night before. 

It took me almost 30 minutes to remember the last place I had been: a frat house that I frequented with my friends. We had gone there the night before to play beer pong with brothers at the frat. I had partnered up with a guy I knew, but did not know well. The last thing I could recall was his face hovering over mine in the darkness of my room.

The next day, I did not know what to do. My friends laughed it off as yet another one of my escapades. I was shaken, but managed to get through the day okay. Until I got a message at 2:39 AM the next night from that guy. That guy. It simply said:

"Hey, so I'm sorry about the other night. I was a little more aggressive than I normally am, so I apologize."

My heart raced. I wanted to vomit. I heard a roaring in my ears. 

I still don't know what exactly happened that night. I never asked. I don't really want to know. But I remember the bruises, and I remember the fear. I remember the single, simple apology that said so much and yet told me so little about what happened.

"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.

"You're really smart for an ugly girl!"

When I was 10 or 11, my class split up into groups and competed to see which group could put a puzzle together the fastest. I essentially finished our group's puzzle on my own, and the boy I was working with said, "You're really smart for an ugly girl!"

It took me a long time to get over this. 

Pretty Melanie

I attended a small Christian elementary school with only eleven students in my class. Out of six girls, there were two Melanies. I was the tall, chubby Melanie. The other Melanie was like a golden, perfect swan. 

In 5th grade, we all participated in a track and field event, and everyone started rooting for "Pretty Melanie." 

I spent the next 15 years battling eating disorders.
 

Olive Oyl

My mom always pointed out everything that was beautiful about all of my friends, but she always called me Olive Oyl because I was skinny and uncoordinated.

"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.