From the time my sister Princess* was born when I one year old, Mrs. Troll* constantly extolled how pretty she was. When I asked Mrs. Troll if I was pretty, she told me no and you are never going to be pretty; you are ugly (this cuts deeply into me). She also told me things like you are bad and there is something wrong with you. These things hurt deeply even to this day when I know I am not ugly but don’t let it fully register how much she lied. Mr. Troll told me you are bad and bad children are not loved (causing me to cry in pain). “Good” meant being quiet, not crying or screaming when they hurt me physically or emotionally, not talking to anyone about the family. He also told me that Mrs. Troll wanted to take care of me but because I was bad, she couldn’t. (Don’t talk about it, keep it to yourself, don’t let it hurt you.) When I was four, I heard her on the phone telling someone I am “an odd and difficult child; I’m not sure I can give it love.” I ran off to cry quietly to myself because I wasn’t supposed to make any noise or bother anyone else. I wanted to be good so they would stop hurting me (like they were ever going to stop abusing me). I didn’t even really want them to take care of me. I simply wanted them to stop hurting me. Although I still feel the pain and sting of these things, it also enrages me that they could act in such heinous ways to a child, to me. No matter how good I tried to be, it was never “good enough” for him to stop hurting me or her to want or take care of me. She actually told me that because I would never be good enough, I would have to try harder to be as good as I could (don’t let it hurt you, don’t let it get to you). I’m furious! He told me that I had poisoned blood and no one would ever love or take care of me. I should be grateful that they hadn’t put me into an orphanage because I was so bad. But because I was their child, they were going to try to take care of and “help” me (beating, starving, and molesting me). I cannot begin to describe how much I hate them and how much I would love to kill them. He lied to me when he said the outside world was more dangerous and that anyone else would hurt me and hate me because they would be able to see how bad I was. There were so many lies. Mrs. Troll told me that the reason I could not make and keep friends was because no matter how good I tried to be, they could all tell something was wrong with me they could see how ugly I was. I don’t know how many times I cried myself to sleep. To show that these things don’t just go away on their own, yesterday I did something I thought was bad and stupid and rather than tell the person whose thing it is that I had done this, I tried to cover it so I wouldn’t have been bad (don’t let yourself get angry, don’t let it affect you, don’t think about it). Bad and ugly are tied together. When I was eleven I had a circle of “friends” who weren’t really friends that I “lost.” I also was eleven when I got glasses for the first time, ugly plastic things with thick plastic lenses that obscured my features and eyes; I had very bad acne and blemishes on my face, neck, and back; and I had the ugliest, dullest brown hair due to malnutrition and haircut (don’t think about how much it hurts, don’t let it get to you). I avoided mirrors because I couldn’t stand how ugly I was and how bad it must mean I was. I’m crying so much these days because of how much this has been infecting and hurting me, still hurts but I’m trying to let the pain out now. I was five years old when she was shaking me and repeatedly yelling at me “Don’t be! Don’t be! Don’t be! Don’t be.” I had been crying and screaming in pain and rage and she blew up yelling at me that I was bad and stop crying (she would not acknowledge that I was screaming and crying). I can still hear her screeching at me “Don’t be!” In pain and fury.

*Until I can think of something better to call them.