Why the Low Self Esteem?

 TRIGGER WARNING: This entry mentions physical abuse & describes in detail severe emotional child abuse & school bullying.

   One of my reoccurring problems in therapy is my chronic self-hatred and an innate feeling of worthlessness. Why am I certain I’m so despicable? While none of the following makes the thoughts logical, they do make them reasonable. So let’s delve into the dark depths of my mind.

   As a kid, I was bullied constantly by the entire elementary school, older kids, younger kids, and kids who had never heard of me. They all picked on me. And although now my therapist, when saying, “Not everyone hates you,” is correct… back then, I was constantly told, “The whole school can’t be bullying you,” when they were. I remember being so mad and frustrated that no one believed me. Then again, the teachers treated me with disdain as well. They thought my “ADHD” made me a burden to teach. One teacher forced me into child psychology because he thought I had psychosis. And I felt that same frustration when my therapist said it. But this time, I know I’m wrong.

   My dad, when I was tiny, treated me like I couldn’t ever let him down (except when he was drunk or mad), yet as I got older and grew a brain, he became disdainful of me. He told me to “go in the kitchen, grab a knife, and kill myself.” He told me my sense of beauty was ugly and sick. He told me I was a freak, a loser, a psycho, crazy, nuts, spoiled, manipulative, a brat, ungrateful, rotten, brainwashed, an embarrassment, shameful, stupid, lazy, etc. He told me if I killed myself, nobody would miss me. I often felt if I had only minded him, he wouldn’t have both emotionally and physically abused me and that I deserved this for being difficult.

   Visiting his family every year on Thanksgiving/on my birthday, I would feel so out of place. I’ve gotten fat, they’d say, but they never said much. They mainly discussed the boys. Girls were considered unable to do anything worthy of discussing. I remember among them breaking every social rule because I didn’t know they existed. Sit up straight, look nice, be thin, read your Bible, talk money, be racist, have no morals, keep the ugly truth to yourself, don’t talk, fake a smile, don’t cry. Why is this so hard for you? Are you broken? It certainly felt like I must have been.

   Then there’s my mom. I love her more than anything and she loves me. But name-calling was thrown at me whenever she snapped which happened daily. And because I loved her, it hurt more. And at times, she was also physically abusive. But I forgive her. It was occasional anyways.

   After I began home-schooling at thirteen, my friends disappeared except for two, who would disappear later. One of them was a boy. He was kind until he had to get caught in public with me, then he told me we couldn’t be friends because I wasn’t cool. My other friend would become a drug addict and leave me in the ashes.

   At a support group for those with depression or bipolar disorders, I made many friends who all turned on me individually. One turned on me when my physical disabilities limited our time at Disneyland (which we went to for free via living within the limits). The other after, I didn’t reply to a text right away. The group leader was so kind to me although he made clear he hated people with BPD… so I didn’t tell him about my change in diagnosis… Then one day, I joined an open intellectual conversation he started on Facebook. I just wanted to be a part of it but he thought I wanted to upstage him. So he sent me a message telling me he was only friends with me because he pitied me. It broke my heart. I swore I would not accept pity friendships again.

   After moving to Wyoming, all I’ve heard from anyone, not in my family is, “You’re so wonderful.” I volunteered at an old folks home and even the grouchiest oldies liked me. I felt like an imposter. They like me cause they don’t know enough about me. 

   I’ve been called worthless, I’ve been called a whore, I’ve been called a psycho. My family around me calls me a liar. The point here is I’m so used to being hated. I don’t know how to let myself be loved. I’m scared of more heartache, but I also crave it desperately. And I have a lot of reasons to feel this way, not to mention I’ve left the horror from my birth parents out. The article would have been too long had I added it.

   But is it me that’s got things wrong or the people around me? Bad company surrounds me, and I’ve let them identify me on my behalf. I don’t think undoing the damage will be quick and easy. It’ll be hard, and I will fail many times, but one day, I will raise mentally well children because I did the work. And that’s reason enough to keep trying.

-Anemone