Watching Hannah Montana and singing along top of my wooden coffee table, being put as my stage. With the sunlight gleaming through the sheer curtains as my spotlight, and a tv remote as my mic. I’d suddenly hear my sister, Mary, come down stairs from the hours stuck inside her room. I’d run to the kitchen island and hide my embarrassment. Though she obviously noticed me.

“You’re so pathetic.” She would scoff. Overtime being called worthless, stupid, and that I will never be good enough, stuck with me my whole life. Thinking at a very young age that I was the most unintelligent in my family and the one with the least potential. Thinking it was all my fault. Instead of being care free and adventuring my childhood, I spent it looking down on myself and stressing over my future and the disappointment I gave to my family, which would prove my sister right. It affects me still to this day, which led me to overstress about academics and what people think about myself. Though I would think to blame my sister for my self esteem issues and academic anxiety, I know she didn’t mean to make me feel that way. She needed an outlet to pour out her emotions of suicide and depression she kept built, and she chose me. The youngest.

With the age gap of 8, 6, and 5 years, I was distant to my older siblings as a child. The most distant was with my oldest sister, Mary. Not knowing much about her personal life, affected our relationship and my relationship with myself. WIth such a large age gap, we never could understand each other quite as well. Since not knowing much, I was always being shunned out by her. Usually waiting for her to open the door for hours so we can play. If we were to talk, the conversation would rapidly morphe from weekend plans to how I should be studying more. The anger and stress that she held was poured onto me. Thinking she was fine, I grew up to know how clueless I was. I was hidden from all that she struggled with.  

As I grew, the more I struggled with my mental health, the more acceptable death became to me. I could finally understand how my sister felt. As a child I didn’t know what was happening to my sister. I truly thought she was fine. However when I became of age, she told me about her many suicide attempts and battle with mental health. After her opening a part of her life to me, I became much closer to her than I ever was. Though I still do get fed up with her, I know she will always be there for me and she’ll always love me.

Though as a child, the fear of death would always kept me up. The constant fear of never seeing my friends again, worse, never seeing my family, seemed to be the reason. Panic attacks of death were so frequent for me, it became a routine. Although as time passed, my panic attacks about death became less and less frequent, until they fully stopped. I’ve come to realize that the more I aged, the more death sounded not as frightful as it is portrayed in the media. The more I aged, the more death seemed to be a state of freedom.  A place where I can be myself with no one controlling me. A place where no one can take me down by using me. A place just for me.

Though it’s tempting to do so, I always will have the reality beside me. The sadness I will cause, the future I would waste, the love and care I could provide would be gone. As much as it is an easy way out, I know that it’s just not worth the consequences. I know it would be the most selfish, yet disappointing thing I can do.

As much as I want to be gone and forgotten, I know that I would only be gone, but not forgotten. I don’t want to waste all my potential into one problem. Though at times death seems to be euphoric, I know the reality of the situation. I know I’m not worthless.