Insanity

Sometimes I start to wonder if I really have issues. I've been told all my life I'm the messed-up child of the three of us, and I'm starting to believe it. And it kills me. Because I've fought against his words for sixteen years now. I don't want to believe I need medication, because that would mean he's right. I want to think that maybe he just doesn't know me. Then again, who does? I give off personas, true. But are they me? No. No, I'm not the bubbly person that laughs at literally everything you say. I'm not the angry kid that hit classmates. I'm not the depressing writer you all see. But then who am I? Who is Brenda Jacobs? Is she angry, happy, optimistic, jealous? What the bloody hell am I?
I find it hard to remain consistent with my own self. I've become so paranoid that every move I make is thought over. I'm scared I'll give him evidence to drug me again. I'm frightened, really. I don't want to make another mistake that could 'tear this family apart', because that's what I do best. Really? I'm not that bad. Honest-to-god. Promise.
I don't even recognize myself. Yeah, everyone says that, but it's true. I don't know who this girl is that I see in the mirror. I don't know why she's there, and why the hell she's looking at me. It bugs me. It really does. I've avoided looking at myself for so long that if I looked at a bunch of pictures of Brenna look-a-likes, I wouldn't know which one is me. I'd know which one I'd like to be, but that's because that's what I spend my days doing. I imagine what life would be like if I was prettier. Thinner. More talented.
I've always wondered if my life would be different had my parents said what I wish they'd say. Something less concrete. Complimentary, you know? Like, you look beautiful today, Brenda. You're so loving toward your friends. I don't know what I'd do without you. You make our lives better. Without you, my life would suck major monkey balls. Hell, I have text messages saved and locked on my phone that say things like that.
"To be honest the world lacks girls like you and we can't afford to lose a single one. If you were to die I couldn't handle it as someone that knew before no one else and always cared. Someone like you leaving the earth would kill me." (My best friend/older brother, Matt. In response to me asking if he cared if I killed myself.)
"Thanks for making my night :) you're awesome." (Brandon Upson, in response to me complimenting his song that he wrote with Michael and Chris.)
"Labougy bkkya bechnomoa kebo that's the things I would say because if you died I would go crazy without a friend like you <3" (Devyn, in response to the same question I asked Matt.)
These guys can compliment me. And no, Dad, they're not trying to have sex with me. Devyn is gay, for one. Brandon is in a happy relationship. And Matt raised me. Matt was there for me when no one else was. He's my go-to guy for everything.
I stayed home today because I learned things yesterday that I didn't want to happen. And they upset me. I'm told to grow some balls, basically. Everyone dies, and I'm being overly emotional. Dramatic, he said. And I'm starting to believe him. Because no one else in this 'family' cares. We're all cold now. Just like him. We don't cry here. We don't hug unless we have to. We don't say "I love you" or "You look beautiful today". We say "Take the dog out" or "Change your dress; you look like a slut". That's the language we speak. And I used to think that's what every family did.
And now, I'm not sure. I stick out like a sore thumb. I'm the bad kid, the smoker. I did drugs. Oh, dear. I had sex. Oh, lordy. Good golly. My real mother doesn't judge me for it. She doesn't lecture me for an hour. My real dad says I'm the most beautiful 'little one' he's ever known. My real mom's husband is more of a father to me than HE is. I say HE because I have no name for him. None. My step-brother is more of a brother to me than any of the four I legally claim. He protects me. Hell, he wanted to fight a 30 year-old for asking me for sex. Yeah, he's a drug addict. I know. But at least he acts like he cares. When he saw my old cuts, he flipped because I didn't deserve whatever made me wanna do that. He said I'm beautiful. Why can't you?
Why can't you say I did a good job on that paper? Why can't you make a list of attributes that will get me somewhere in life? Caring, loving, funny, loyal, anything. I'm just asking for one. Not something so  concrete for once. Friends don't care how smart you are. And you've never given me a reason to think I'm even capable to have friends. The last thing you said to me was that I manipulate everyone around me. That's why James stays. Not because he loves me, or because I'm able to keep good relationships. Because my IQ is 128. I can manipulate him to jump off a cliff if I want to.
Basically, I'm sick of it all. So incredibly tired of it.