Lost in life and missing the one person who loved me.

I’m 23F and I have no direction in life. (TW: Su***dal ideation)

I had an insular and abusive childhood. Physically and verbally. They didn’t raise me, so much as scare me into a sort of quiet submission and fear of the world. I was raised by my grandmother and my aunts, who I saw sporadically in my childhood. However, this wasn’t enough, and my growth as a preteen, teen, and young adult was stunted.

I didn’t care for my body properly, I didn’t know how to style myself or have any respect for myself. And, when my period came at 13, I had inherited excruciating cramps. By the time my parents sought medical help because of demands from my school, I was 15, and put on birth control that didn’t help the pain. They made me stay the course, but on shadier back street ‘medications’. I believe that the weird-hormone dosages I was on did something to my body, because it hasn’t developed since. They also refused to take care of my dental work, which led to me losing many of my teeth and developing a slight facial deformity. Due to all of that, I had no self esteem whatsoever. I was an ugly forever-duckling with clipped wings and a broken bill, and I couldn’t take it.

At 13, I developed a sui***l ideation that led to 3 attempts at 14, 16, and 17. The last one brought the cops to my home and ended in a short-term institutionalization. Afterwards, my parents abuse became more intense, but more hidden all the same, which only fueled my desire to take my own life. I knew that I would have to wait until I was able to buy a gn and take care of it instantly. In my state, I would need to wait until I was 21. So, I waited, knowing that I would only live to that age and that I should try and make the most of the time I had.

From a young age, I liked visual art. It was a hobby that I could do solely from my house, so my parents allowed it, although they insisted on my lack of talent. In time, I used it to process, escape from and document my suffering, and because it was all I did, I got pretty damn good at it. Despite my lack of familial support, my teachers urged me to apply to art colleges, and at the time, I thought that trying to achieve the highest goal in the time I had left was a good way to go out. I got into all 5 of my schools, with a merit-based scholarship to the most prestigious one. I accepted.

My time there was a traumatizing, exhilarating rush of self-destruction and self-discovery. I made friends. They supported me and loved me and I did the same for them, as best I could. They took me to my doctors appointments where I was tested and diagnosed with a long list of illnesses, both physical and mental, as well as detriments from my parents medical neglect that would need to be managed. Because of these shortcomings, I was not a star student, on account of my absences and lack of follow through with assignments, but I passed my courses and made good work.

As my 21st birthday loomed ahead, I decided to throw myself into becoming a sort of character- taking all the lives I wanted to live and trying my best. For the first time, I attracted romantic attention, and given the fact that it was something I assumed I’d never get… I drowned in it. I began to seek out healthier relationships, but for the wrong reasons. I wanted something, anything real before I left, and I went all-in with a different man who didn’t really care for me, just for what I was willing to provide to keep him close to me and happy within my given time frame (which he knew nothing about, so in the end, it was best that it wasn’t anything too serious). Inevitably, it was a shit show, and my academic took severe, but non-lethal, damage. Strangely enough, my work itself blossomed in complexity and depth during this time.

At the same time as this relationship, my grandmother’s health declined. We agreed that once I was done with school, I’d stay with her and ease her entry into the next world. Little did she know, I planned to join her soon after. She was adamant that I finish school first. My current boyfriend eclipsed the life I had tried to make, even taking me away from the precious time I spent with her.

I visited her my senior year. My hair had been buzzed for two years at this point, she had always said she didn’t like it, which hurt. I wore a bright yellow sundress and wooden platforms, brought her roses and her favorite soft cereal to feed her. When I entered her room, she lit right up. Telling me how gorgeous I was, how proud she was of me and my studies. I read her some scripture as she dozed off, in and out of lucidity as was usual for her. Mid-verse, she sat up and looked at me. Really looked, not just her gaze shifting from side to side like usual. She put her palm flat against my head and down against my chest. “You have become such a lovely lady. You’ll do such great things.”

She told me that she wanted me to go on and live a wonderful life, for myself and for her, no matter what happens. She made me promise. I did. She apologized and said my short hair suited me. She asked if I wanted to ask her anything, or tell her anything, and I just asked her if she knew how much I loved her. She said yes, and that I should pour everything into my schooling. I did. She died 4 months later, before I graduated. Her gift to me was the two silver bracelets she had worn all her life.

My boyfriend cheated on me, dumped me. My 21st came and went, I graduated from school. When I took my diploma, I took it in my left hand and shook it above my head, just so I could hear her bracelets twinkling on my special day. I remembered my promise.

Her death changed everything. Not only did I no longer have a place to live, I had promised her that I would keep living. More than that, all of the friends which were my family at that point, went back to their own homes all over the globe. I never intended to live past my planned year, so I took a retail job and got a little place with some roommates, and here I am now. It’s been a year and a half since I graduated and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now. Nothing has meaning. Trying to fix myself in any way seems pointless, to what end? I model and do commissions on the side to pay bills, but that meager contribution is all that remains of what was once a brilliant practice and joy for life that has honestly left me. While I don’t want to break my promise to one of the few people in this life that ever loved me, I find myself wanting to be with her more and more as the days go by. I regret deeply that I never asked any follow up questions of her promise- “how do I live? Why?” And so I ask them of you. What do I do now? I miss her. I don’t think staying for the long visit, going to where she is now would be a bad thing.