The Weight of Expectations

January 4, 2025

Hello My Friend,

We made it to a new year. I’m so thankful you are here! I hope this finds you well. In my last letter about middle school I was telling you about my 6th grade year. What a year that was.

A bit of a warning, there is talk of suicidal ideation, bullying and depressed mood in this letter. If either are upsetting or triggering, please read with caution or skip.

My 7th grade year wasn’t any easier. In fact it gets worse. You’re probably thinking how does your life get any worse. In 6th grade I didn’t make the best choices, and socially I struggled just to fit in with my peers. Frequently chasing boys to get attention, trying to copy the behaviors of girls my age to gain popularity. I failed, which only made my self esteem plummet.

I was the annoying kid, the kid who was too much and so over the top. Making friends wasn’t easy unless they were like me. There weren’t many like me at all. The loneliness sank in and ate away at me mentally. I’m adopted, and I remember feeling like I wasn’t good enough for my parents. The abandonment of my birth parents destroyed me. Why didn’t they love me, why did my dad give me up, why was my life so hard!

My 7th grade year a kid in my neighborhood called me a slut everyday to and from school. 13 year old me had no idea what that even was. Kids would laugh, point their fingers and no one wanted to sit with me. I was isolated, a lone, and no one to turn to. I kept journals and would write about how great death would be. I didn’t want to live in a world where I existed any more. I wrote a lot of dark things.

My dad traveled a lot for work, which left my mom as the primary parent. I needed my dad, but I needed my parents to understand me, to see me. I hated them, I hated them for seeing me as happy, for seeing me as active, and social, I hated them for seeing past the darkness stealing my life.

I started seeking the attention and approval from older boys and men. I thought if I could get them to like me, to want me, I’d somehow feel better. I had a lot of self-image issues and my self-esteem was driven by what others thought of me. If people liked me, it amounted to some level of happiness.

I struggled more with school. Instead of being in an IEP class for English, I was in class that year. I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed science, which was my favorite subject. I was failing, and trying to keep up was a nightmare. We were required to do a science fair project which was a good chunk of our grade. I forgot about it and then time passed and I knew I didn’t have time so I didn’t do it. I hadn’t even started. BAM it was the day it was due. My parents got a call.

SUICIDAL IDEATION IS TALKED ABOUT BELOW

I remember that night my parents came into my room. Clearly very upset, angry, and asking why I never did my project. I had paper and a pencil in my hand. I started writing about wanting to die. Suicide was better then being a live. I didn’t want to live any more. I drew a person being hung. I was pushed into a corner, and knowing my parents were yet again upset at me and I was yet again a problem for not doing something. I failed. I was worthless.

I got an extension on my project and did get it done. I can’t remember what it was on exactly but it had to do with violin strings.

My mom one day was worried and found my journals. The dark writings exposed. My wanting to die, no longer a secret. She also found the writing of the night I was confronted about my science fair project. Like any parent she reached out for help.

Help came in the form of getting pulled from school, and going to UNC hospital to talk to a psychologist who evaluated me. Me being the super non verbal kid who shut down, didn’t say a single word. I spent 3 days in the acute psychiatric unit. My first glimpse of others with dark thoughts like me. Other problem kids who also seemed to struggle. I was advised to see a psychologist and psychiatrist to possibly start meds.

I was now in therapy and working with someone who would determine what psychiatric diagnosis I had and what meds I needed. I never once opened up about school, the challenges I had, the kids mistreatment, my desire to die. I kept my darkness in, and released it on paper. I wrote. My heart was bleeding because the world didn’t see me, they saw me as broken, something to fix, and I wished someone just saw the little girl who needed love, to be told they are enough, and it was going to be ok. To stop taking me to doctor after doctor trying to change and fix something that was never broken to begin with.

After my 3 day stay in the psych unit, my life changed. I stopped trying, I was exhausted from trying to be the good kid all the time. I started to not care. I hurt friends, said things that pushed them away. I grew more impulsive, I didn’t care about getting hurt. I spent a lot of time outside, bike riding, roller blading, being in the woods. My intrusive thoughts would often lead to impulsive behaviors. What happened if I did XYZ, well let’s find out. I had no fear. This was also about the year I was taken off ADHD medication.

I started medication from the psychiatrist which only increased the dark thoughts, and unwanted behaviors seen by many. Medication and me did not mix!! I was just given a higher dose.

This was the worst year, and so much of it has been repressed so I don’t remember smaller details, or happy events from this period of my life. However I do remember the kindness shown by my 7th grade math teacher. Her patience and understanding that I didn’t learn like the other kids. She explained things to me in a way I understood and broke down the math problems so I could learn the information. I’m forever grateful for her and someone who has greatly influenced my life.

No matter how dark or grim life might be now, I assure you it does get better. It takes daily work, but it’s going to be ok. If you are in a dark place, find a safe place to release that darkness, talk to someone, write, whatever you find joy in. Life is worth living, and you are worth being here!

I will try to write again soon.

Stay well,

Rebecca