By Hannah Martin
I don’t want to be this way. I didn’t choose to be this way. I wish I didn’t have to take medicine to control my emotions, my behavior. But without my meds, I’m a holy terror.
Without my meds, I hate everyone – my parents, my twin brother, my little sister, you and, especially, me.
I’ve been angry since before I knew how to spell my own name.
Not just having a bad attitude, but so angry that my face turned red, my fist clenched, my eyebrows would go down while my eyelids went up. My feet spread apart and I began to yell.
“Don’t touch my door, idiot!”
“I hate you, Devin [brother]! You’re so stupid!”
And when I got older I started to cuss to show my anger through words.
“I’m going to [explicit] kill you, you [body part] head!”
“[Explicit], you are so ugly that even mom can’t stand to look at you!”
I remember when I was eight, standing underneath the stairs and punching the wall.
I remember hitting my twin brother, who at the time was a scrawny, blonde haired kid with big, blue eyes.
I remember screaming at my little sister because she took my American Girl Doll without asking.
I was a monster.
I’m depressed. I have an anxiety disorder that shames Sylvia Plath. I have dips of self-esteem and self-worth. I have panic attacks when I stress out. And because of those, I don’t know how to control my anger when I’m not on my meds.
The thing is, I hate myself when I’m angry. I hate myself so much that I use to cut myself. I cut to punish myself for being angry and hurting the people I love and care about. I was mean and horrible to my father and mother, whom I love, and my siblings, whom I adore with all my heart.
I hated myself for making them hate me.
Just thinking of that time makes me tear up, in sadness and happiness.
Things today are much better because I have a close bond with my twin brother and my fifteen year old sister. My eleven year old sister finally looks up to me. I’m a happy person. I’m outgoing, outspoken, friendly, confident and so much nicer.
This is how I want to be.