Hate Letters

Hate letters: a type of harassment that are often abusive, threatening, and intimidating

I’m happy I am taking the time to learn me. The good, the scary, the disappointing, the regrets, the amazing things, and everything in between. I write myself love letters to remind myself just that. It makes me think about the time i wrote hate mail, hate messages, or hate letters to myself. I’ve always loved to write and tell a story. I had a diary and I would read a lot. I wrote poetry and even tried to write songs. The day it turned into hate letters shocked me. It scared me truly. It wasn’t until my sister Brenda read it that I didn’t realize the things I said… the way I felt. Gosh I’d be shame. I wrote down my disgust for my body, disdain for my face, and how I walked around in shame, because I was who I was. My sister asked me, “Is this really how you feel?”, I really don’t know what to say. If I said yes it’s true and if I said no it was lie, but how are both of these statements true at the same time? I remember the day I wrote down that I was ugly and it wasn’t pretty. I could see the pain and hurt in my sister’s eyes and she told me don’t ever feel that way about yourself. She returned my book and I could just feel how hurt she was. I know now why she speaks the way she speaks to me. She’s seen how ugly and mean I can be to myself. Now I can view what she says differently and I’m grateful for that. For the most part that secret was safe with us. She never told my mom or my other sister and if she did they never said a word. Honestly, one day it got so bad I broke almost 20-30 awards that I earned. From the pre-k/kindergarten pageant in 1999-2000 to my jr high cheerleading trophies all gone. All my memories and achievements destroyed, because I couldn’t see myself as a success that day. I couldn’t see myself beyond a rumor that had no truth, no depth, and just simply unbelievable now I can’t admire the child, the talent I was. When I realized what I did it was just way too late. Cheerleader figures broke in half, books removed from their post, and torches all gone. All in a pile. I couldn’t believe it… I don’t think anyone noticed my trophies were on display anymore. In tears I place them in a yellow duffle bag with lips to be able to preserve the accomplishments. At least that way they still exist. Yet, it’ll never be the same. Another piece of shame to add to my pain, more misery to add to my pile of rocks. I don’t know why I couldn’t believe I was that girl. Why I couldn’t allow myself to be that successful? Was the pressure hard? Did I just want some attention that I needed? I can’t call it I just know that wasn’t something I wanted. I don’t know where those hate letters are today and I don’t know if I still have the trophies anymore, because the bag has been trashed. I just know that the messages have no place on my heart anymore and my achievements are still real. It’s just a miss and wish when they were something I could feel.

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