At first, I took it personally. I would cry and argue when you came out of nowhere to insult me. I felt left out when you purposely didn’t allow me to hang around you or your friends. When you told me about how good you were at everything, I believed it. Somehow, blaming myself for not being good enough to be around you was the response I took.
Later, as you got worse, I learned to dismiss. I would pretend it didn’t bother me when you would scream and call me names. That it was alright when you bullied others or purposefully made them feel small. That when you spit or threatened violence it didn’t mean anything.
Eventually, suppressing my feelings became the norm. Any which way I could manipulate my own behavior to avoid conflict was praised as maturity.
When they told me you had a mental illness, I thought they were making excuses for you. I didn’t accept that for you, this had become your norm. I couldn’t understand how refusing treatment or neglecting your well- being was part of the disease.
So much so, that your only impulse became making everyone around you feel just as ugly as you did. That any other way of living was so foreign it terrified you.
The day dysfunction became comfortable was the day you chose to define yourself by it. I knew you were different from others, but not the extent. Your temperament was constantly changing. Slowly you started shutting everyone out until you were left with only the company of your disease. Since then, you don’t live a normal life anymore. You’ve lost all drive to exist as anything but the person who broke.
I’m sorry you are hurting so much. I’m sorry you are this lost. But we are at a stand still. No one can offer you support until you are willing to accept.
I hope one day you open your eyes long enough to see that you can help yourself out of this cycle. Please don’t be ashamed of your illness anymore. Don’t let it control your life and ruin the lives of others.
Please come home and accept help. We miss the person you used to be.